New beginnings
by phiewdh
Summary: The Grand Prix final was a little more than a month ago. Victor returned to Russia in order to prepare for his return to the ice. Now, it's Yuuri's time to travel across the world to embrace his new beginning, together with Victor in St Petersburg. How will the reunion go between the two? [completed story, updates irregularly with stand alone bonus chapters]
1. Chapter 1

**As far as we know, Victor returned to Russia. In my mind, Yuuri had to stay in Japan for some weeks to prepare for his new life, together with Victor. How would Yuuri and Victor's first meeting be after being separated from each other for some time after the Grand Prix final?**

* * *

"Good luck, love. Send a text once you get there, okay?"

"I will, mom. I'll text you when I change flights, too."

"Hey, Yuuri? I'm glad that you're not retiring. Good luck."

"Thanks, sis. I'm... glad too. This... this will work out, I think."

"Yuuri, good luck!"

"Thanks, dad. I will visit more often than when I was in Detroit."

Yuuri took a step down from his family to put on his shoes. His chest hurt a little. He was bad with goodbyes. Taking a deep breath, trying to choke back the tears, he turned to his family.

"Well, I'm off!"

"Take care," they responded in chorus.

* * *

The flight from Fukuoka to Tokyo was totally uneventful. Yuuri walked through the airport to get to the International section, something he's done many times before. This time, however, it felt different. More tingly inside.

He stopped and looked at the screen that showed departures. _Helsinki... Helsinki... Ah, there!_ He noted the floor and gate, and started to walk. Two hours to spare.

Once he passed through security, he went straight for the gate. He found an empty seat next to an elderly couple and reached in his coat pocket for his phone. No texts. He opened his sms-app.

 _To: Mom_

 _I'm in Tokyo now, waiting for the flight to Finland. Tell everyone I said hi. /Yuuri_

He pressed send.

 _To: Victor_

 _I'm in Tokyo now. 17 more hours. Cant wait to see_

He erased the last sentence.

 _I want to see you. Now. /Y_

He pressed send.

Yuuri put his phone back in his coat pocket. It was around five in the morning in St Petersburg, there was no way he was getting a response.

Yuuri started to think about his past ten months. His past ten months with Victor. The ups and downs. The heartbreak and tribulations. How he had found something he never wanted to be without, ever again. How they decided, there on the floor next to the kiss and cry at the Grand Prix final, that Yuuri had to move. Move in with Victor. In St Petersburg. In Russia.

Yuuri felt that tingling sensation again. It made him weak at the knees, made his heart skip a beat, made him involuntarily gasp for air. He felt his cheeks heat up a little, so he buried his face in his hands. He felt a little embarrassed, reacting like he did. The coolness of the ring he was wearing on his right hand felt like a blessing on his burning cheek.

He peered through his fingers and noticed that it would be time to board within the next 20 minutes. When the call for the flight echoed in the speakers, he felt relieved. He hurried to stand in line, feeling his heart beat slighty harder and faster.

After he got his boarding pass in return, he walked towards the aircraft through the seemingly never ending corridor. He pulled up his phone, opened the camera app and took a photo. One last Instagram-post before entering a new phase in life.

 _Bye, Japan._

As he quickly scrolled through his feed after he took his seat, something caught his eye. A photo of an empty closet.

 _ **v-nikiforov**_

 _53 likes_

 _ **v-nikiforov**_ _Making room for something new!_

 _posted 3 minutes ago_

Yuuri double tapped the image with a smile. As he did, his phone vibrated. A text.

 _From: Victor_

 _Soon! Don't be late!_

Yuuri felt pathetic as his eyes became blurry with tears.

* * *

An eleven hour flight. To Yuuri, it felt like an eternity. After watching all the downloaded clips of numerous figure skating finals he had on his laptop, two in-flight movies and flipping through the complimentary magazines, he felt restless. Anxious, even. Five more hours to go until landing, give or take.

He reached for his phone and opened the gallery. The last photo he had on his phone that portrayed Victor was taken on the 27th of December. It was when they separated after close to nine months together, shortly after the Grand Prix-final came to an end. Two days after Victor's birthday. A little more than a month ago.

* * *

They had both left for the airport, taking the train from Hasetsu to Fukuoka. The train ride had been quite somber. Victor's mood had been somewhat low-key, and Yuuri couldn't think of anything to lighten it. He himself wasn't happy. As they came closer to Fukuoka International Airport, Yuuri had noticed a shift in Victor. It was apparent, but not at the time though, that Victor was trying hard to spare Yuuri of a tormented good-bye.

"So, when you come in February, it won't be too cold. Although, it would be smart to bring something warm, just in case."

Viktor had sounded somewhat cheery, something Yuuri had a hard time to accept.

"Yuuri," Victor continued, "I think it will be best if you take it slow once you get to St Petersburg. Time difference and all, you know? Maybe for two or three days anyway. I'll start training in a couple of days, I can't be slacking now that I'm returning to the ice. I'll try to get a lot done once I get home, though, so you won't be too alone once you arrive. I'll probably have some rough drafts done to both of my programs, so we can focus on you and your season."

"Mhm. That's okay, Victor." _I'm going to burst._

They both entered the airport in silence. Victor was quick to spot the number of his gate as Yuuri trailed behind, pushing the luggage trolley with just a few of Victor's bags. The rest of Victor's belongings were scheduled for pickup from Hasetsu during the upcoming week.

Yuuri's eyes were glued to Victor's back as he went away from the monitor towards the hallway that would lead him to check-in. _Wonder if it's as hard for him as it is for me?_

They both stood in line at the check-in, waiting for the first tentative door to close between them. As it was Victor's turn to approach the counter, Yuuri excused himself hurriedly. He couldn't take it right now. He headed for the bathroom.

Yuuri locked himself in one of the stalls. Flashes of when he last cried in a similar setting appeared before his inner eye, making him feel mortified. He tried to steady his breathing, he was feeling more and more anxious. He felt his throat tense up, that familiar feeling of a looming emotional outburst.

His phone beeped and vibrated in his pocket.

 _From: Victor_

 _Yuuri, where did you go? Come, we don't have much time! Standing outside the baggage drop, left my bags already._

 _To: Victor_

 _I'll be there, give me a second. /Y_

Yuuri wasn't as composed as he'd liked when he exited the bathroom. He still felt that tense feeling in his throat, tears teasing his eyes and making him blink. His lower lip was trembling. _I really don't want him to leave._

Yuuri passed the baggage drop without noticing. He was busy trying to stay composed. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, which made him stop dead in his tracks. He recognised that grip on his shoulder all too well, but was saddened when he realised that it wasn't calming him like it had done countless of times before.

"Yuuri?" Victor's voice sounded low behind him. Emotional, even. "Come, turn around."

Yuuri did as he was told, keeping his head low. _If I look at him, I'll... cry._

"Yuuri, we don't have to make it harder than it has to." Victor's voice was almost a whisper. "I must go back, you know? I have a lot of catching up to do."

Yuuri stood with his eyes fixed on Victor's shoes. _I know. It's what we both want, but I'm not ready. I'll never be ready to let you go, now that I know where we stand._

Yuuri inhaled sharply as he felt Victor's arms around him.

"This is what we decided, Yuuri," Victor whispered in his ear. "We want this in order to continue. If I'm to stand by you as your coach, we have to do this. It's only for a short time, considering what I want for you. And what you want for me. That's what you said, right? "

Yuuri felt Victor's grip ease up a little. Victor's hand quickly went down Yuuri's coat pocket.

"You don't have to be in it if you don't want to," Victor said as he pulled up Yuuri's phone. Yuuri heard the shutter go off, but didn't move. Still remaining in Victor's slightly loosened embrace.

"You look at this on your way home," Victor said as he gently let his arms leave Yuuri's shoulders, putting the phone back in the same pocket.

Yuuri sighed. Or sobbed, he wasn't sure. Still with his eyes glued to the floor. He felt Victor's hands on his face, his fingers lightly coercing him to tip his jaw. To lock eyes with him. He lightly grabbed Victor's wrists, maybe to ground him a little before they had to part ways.

As Yuuri finally had the courage meet Victor's gaze, he noticed that Victor indeed was affected too. He knew that look, it reminded him of the night before the free skate of the Grand Prix-final. _Was that cheery attitude he'd put on before just a charade?_ Strangely, the thought made him feel better.

"Yuuri... I must go now."

"I know." The steadiness of his own voice surprised him.

"When you get to St Petersburg, you better be ready. I won't go easy on you."

Yuuri smiled a little. It made Victor's eyes soften a bit.

"So, no emotional eating. No katsudon! Remember, you haven't won anything yet!"

As he felt the spontaneous reaction bubble up inside him, Victor hugged him tight once more. Yuuri couldn't help but laugh, and was relieved that Victor was laughing too.

* * *

Yuuri sighed as he shifted in his seat. He'd looked at that photo countless of times during the month that had passed. Victor, with one arm around his back, still in an embrace, the other one slightly extended, holding the phone. Victor's hair blending together with his, making a wonderful contrast. Victor was flashing a super nova smile. A genuine smile. A smile that spoke more than words ever could.

"You always meet me where I am," Yuuri said quietly to himself as he put away his phone, suddenly feeling tired.

* * *

Yuuri woke up with a jolt when the flight attendants asked the passengers to raise their seatbacks and put the tray tables in an upright position. Five hours had indeed passed by quickly, as soon as he'd fallen asleep. Thank god for that. He felt that tingle inside him again. So close. Four more hours.

The landing went smoothly. Yuuri was quick to turn off flight mode on his phone, even before the plane had stopped completely. As he exited the aircraft, he felt the phone vibrate in his pocket, the sensation made him giddy. He decided to keep the phone in his pocket until he knew where to go.

Yuuri found that Helsinki Airport was quite small, finding his way around it was simple. Not at all like Kyushu and Narita. As soon as he knew which gate to go to, he reached for his phone. Three new messages.

 _From: Mom_

 _I will, dear. Where are you now? I hope everything is going well. Love, Mom_

 _To: Mom_

 _I'm in Finland now. The plane is leaving in roughly two hours. I'll text you when I get there. /Yuuri_

After he pressed send, he found an empty seat close to his departure gate. He continued to check his phone.

 _From: Viktor_

 _I'm the one who left a voicemail. You don't have to listen to it, tell me when you've landed instead, OK?_

Yuuri smiled. The last text was indeed from his provider, telling him that there was a missed call and that the caller left a message.

 _To: Viktor_

 _I've landed. Sitting and waiting now. It's on time so... Three more hours. THREE! See you soon, Victor. /Y_

Yuuri's thumb hovered over the send button. He decided to press it.

His heart skipped a beat. Three more hours. The flight from Helsinki to St Petersburg would take a little more than an hour, then he would be with him. In Russia. Starting something entirely new, something he never hesitated to decide upon. _I'm going to be with you and together, we'll..._

The phone vibrated. Continuously. _A call?_ Yuuri looked at the display, he saw that photo where he smiled that smile. _Victor._

As soon as Yuuri had swiped to answer, he heard Victor's voice.

"Yuuri! Hi!"

"Victor..."

"How are you doing, Yuuri?"

"I'm... fine. I'm doing fine, Victor. Starting to get a little tired, though."

"You've had a long day. I'm coming to pick you up so it's on time, you said?"

"Yes, it is." Yuuri's heart started to beat a little faster.

They shared a little pause.

"Yuuri, listen," Victor continued. His voice sounded different. More emotional. "I... I've missed you and it feels amazing that you're almost here. It's the best thing that can possibly happen, you know? I can't think of anything else that would make me feel the same way."

"I know, Victor. I... can't wait to be with you. You know, I saw your Instagram-post and... well, it made me happy."

Yuuri heard Victor chuckle.

"New beginnings. Right, Yuuri?"

"New beginnings. Thank you for everything. For letting me be a part of your life, for teaching me and..."

"Now, Yuuri," Victor interrupted him. "We're not planning another good-bye speech tonight. We're planning a hello. A nice to see you. Right?"

Yuuri nodded, and felt silly once he realised it. It's not like Victor could see him affirming his words.

"Right!"

"Great. So... Next time we speak, I'll see you!"

"I can't wait. See you, Victor."

"See you, Yuuri. Bye."

"Bye."

* * *

Victor looked at his phone. It was time to go. He collected his keys and put them in his coat pocket. He crouched down, letting his hands stroke the fur of the poodle that wisped around his legs.

"Be back soon, Makkachin. We're having a guest, so I guess you'll have to share the bed from now on."

Victor stood up, and turned off the light in the hallway.

"See you, Makkachin."

He closed the door behind him, and walked towards the lift. Absentmindedly, he pressed the button for the bottom floor. His thoughts were definitely elsewhere, on the meeting that was going to take place.

"It's coming back to me. Life. And love," he said quitely to himself.

He walked through the lobby-like bottom floor as he exited the lift. The taxi was already standing in front of the building, which he appreciated. Being on time was important for Victor, and especially today. He buttoned his coat and tucked in the loose ends of his muffler before exiting, walking the five strides or so to the edge of the pavement. He opened the back door of the taxi and placed himself in the seat.

"Good evening. Pulkovo, please."

The driver nodded as he turned on the meter.

Victor felt excited. He really couldn't help himself.

* * *

Yuuri was breathing faster. _Please land, please land, please land..._ The anticipation was killing him, making him enter some kind of tunnel vision. Making him light-headed. He wanted to get off, now.

As the propeller plane touched ground, he unbuckled his seatbelt. He was intent on leaving as soon as the seatbelt sign got switched off. Everything was already neatly stored in his backpack. He felt like a racehorse, anxious and full of adrenaline. Ready to burst out on the given signal.

 _Why is everything going so slow? I can't stand this, let me off._

* * *

Victor had been recognised by quite a few people while waiting in the arrivals area, it turned out to be a nice diversion. Taking some photos, signing some glossy magazines... The twenty minutes he waited passed by quite quickly. When he saw people coming out from the passport control, he excused himself as gracefully as he could. _Finally._

He felt himself focusing. Searching. Searching for a brown coat, black hair and glasses.

* * *

Yuuri felt an array of emotions. He felt lost, happy, sad, excited and scared at the same time. His eyes desperately longed to see something familiar as he came out from the passport control. _Victor, where are you?!_

"Dobro pozhalovat' v Rossiyu." A whisper from behind. A warm breath caressing his cheek. Suddenly he felt scared to turn around. But he did.


	2. Chapter 2

Victor had to brace himself. The impact almost made him stagger. As soon as they felt close, he held on. One arm across his shoulders, one at the small of his back. Pulling him. _Closer! I want you closer!_

Fingers digging into his back through his clothes. The sensation made Victor feel lightheaded, almost weak. Victor had never felt needed in this way before, and he made a quiet promise to himself to never let that feeling slip away. This was what it should be all about. Life and Love, no telling them apart. Interwoven, creating a fantastic tapestry.

"Welcome to Russia, Yuuri. In English, this time."

He felt Yuuri shift in his arms, but his grip hadn't loosened. A billowing sensation against Victor's chest made him warm inside, he couldn't help uttering a appreciative sound. The core essences of Life and Love, right in his arms.

"No crying, Yuuri," Victor said softly, entwining his fingers in Yuuri's hair.

He couldn't hear Yuuri's muffled response. He pushed Yuuri slighty away from him, holding him by his shoulders. Intent on seeing those dark brown eyes.

"Come again?" He couldn't help but smile. _Where are those eyes of his?_

"I'm happy, Victor. Don't be stupid," Yuuri said. Looking slightly to the side, he removed his glasses and met Victor's eyes.

 _Seeing him... It's like coming up for air._

Victor let go of Yuuri's shoulders. Softly, he trailed his thumb over Yuuri's bottom lip. The smile he was rewarded with made him inhale sharply. While holding Yuuri's face is his hands, just for a couple of seconds, he could see that he was indeed happy.

"Come. Let's get your bags."

* * *

"What," Yuuri laughed.

"You've moved to a different country and you only brought _this_?"

Victor's open palm pointed at Yuuri's bag. One, slightly larger than a carry-on, black spinner.

"Mhm," Yuuri replied. He watched Victor's disbelieving face in amusement. "I had it when I trained in Detroit too. But I do have my backpack!"

"Unbelievable. To think I emptied a closet at five in the morning for this. Tsk."

They glanced at each other, and burst out laughing. Ten months ago, Victor had come to Hasetsu with an entire household in tow. Now, Yuuri had come to St Petersburg with one sad excuse of a bag. Yuuri couldn't stop laughing at the thought. He buckled over, holding on to Victor's arm for support. Victor did the same, resting his free arm on Yuuri's back.

After some attempts at regaining some kind of composure, Victor took the lead as they went for the exit.

"Is it far? Your place, I mean," Yuuri asked as they stepped outside. The russian air was dry, and it was a bit colder than Yuuri had expected it to be.

"No, it's not far," Victor replied. "We're taking a taxi, hold on."

Yuuri watched Victor as he walked over to one of the parked cars outside the terminal, opened the front passenger door and asked the driver something in russian. Yuuri only understood the "spasibo", and walked over to the car as Victor motioned him closer.

Victor opened the boot of the taxi and Yuuri quickly shoved the bag in.

"There. Ready to go, Yuuri?"

* * *

Watching Victor interacting with the taxi driver, not thinking twice about taking selfies with the driver's phone after being asked since the daughter of the driver was a huge fan, firing off _that_ smile whilst being so approachable... Yuuri couldn't help himself. It was like seeing Victor for the first time after he arrived at Hasetsu. The memory made his heart skip a beat.

 _I'm mesmerized by you._

Even though the driver only spoke Russian, Yuuri never felt left out during the drive. Sure, he couldn't really add to the sometimes loud and hearty conversation, but Victor had a way of noticing him anyway. A glance here, a quick touch there... And frankly, just being close to Victor was enough, Yuuri concluded.

After maybe thirty minutes, the taxi driver flipped the turn signal and pulled over. A friendly discussion between Victor and the driver took place, and Yuuri guessed it had something to do with the fare. The driver waved his phone around, apparently pleased with the selfies, and seemed to politely decline Victor's card. It all culminated in Victor paying in cash and judging by the look on the driver's face and the many "spasibo", Victor had been generous.

"Here we are," Victor laughed. "Got your bag, Yuuri?"

Victor slipped his arm around Yuuri's shoulders, coaxing him to walk on. Yuuri was quick to hold his arm around Victor's waist as they stepped into the bottom floor of the building.

* * *

Yuuri was impressed. It looked almost like a hotel lobby, he concluded.

Victor pressed the call button for the lift and they stood together in silence. Waiting for the ding. When the lift arrived, Yuuri saw a smile play over Victor's lips. _Wonder what he's thinking?_

When the doors closed in front of them, Yuuri reached out and locked his ring finger together with Victor's. Yuuri saw Victor glace at him from the corner of his eye, making an appreciative, barely audible, huffing sound. It was all he needed to hear.

Quickly interlacing his hand with Victor's, Yuuri pulled him around. Almost as quick, he let him go, only to grab a hold of the lapel of Victor's coat.

"Finally."

They became all hands, tongues, wet exhales and soft moans spoken against each other's lips.

* * *

As the lift dinged again, they reluctantly stopped.

Victor finished the kiss playfully by biting Yuuri's lower lip.

 _He tasted like coffee and oranges_ , Yuuri thought, as he had both of his hands in Victor's hair. He let out a sigh, and did his best to adjust his glasses.

"Come," Victor said with a slightly husky tone is his voice. "Here it is."

Being led by the hand, Yuuri followed quietly and stood to the side as Victor let him go to reach for his keys. The rattle of the lock was welcomed by barks from the inside.

"Hello, Makkachin," Victor said as he opened the door. "Go on, Yuuri."

Yuuri walked through the front door, took off his shoes and squatted to pet the almost too enthusiastic poodle. Makkachin enjoyed a scratch on the bum, and left Yuuri to say hello to his master.

"That's cold, Makkachin," Yuuri said as he stood up. He heard a click and the flat suddenly bathed in light.

"Can I take your coat?"

Yuuri unzipped his coat whilst trying to take in everything he saw. _So this is Victor in his essence._ He handed Victor his coat, almost absentmindedly, and took a couple of steps.

"Okaeri, Yuuri." Even though his Japanese pronounciation was just as bad as Yuuri's Russian, the gist of what Victor was trying to convey was enough.

Yuuri felt his throat clench, and he let out a sob.

"Tadaima!"

* * *

Victor put his hand on Yuuri's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

"You okay?"

"Yes." Yuuri whimpered a little, swallowing multiple times. "I'm sorry, Victor."

"Don't be. You've had a long day."

Victor gripped Yuuri's upper arms, trying to console him without being overly protective. Yuuri didn't need him being patronising, it would have the opposite effect.

"Can I make you something?" Victor stared intently. "I can make you some tea, I was thinking of having some coffee. I think have enough in the fridge to make a salad?"

"It's so late, Victor. I don't want to eat right now but a cup of tea would be nice."

"Perfect." Victor loosened his grip of Yuuri's arms. "Go on, take a look."

Victor went into the kitchen. He started his siphon brewer and put the kettle on.

"Yuuri! Any tea is okay?" He stared at the cups on the counter. No answer.

Victor watched the brewer slowly do its job. One perfect drop at a time. He let out a small sigh. Thinking to himself, he came to the conclusion that it was a long time ago that he'd felt this relaxed. Or... content, rather. It was a feeling he wasn't really used to. A lot of things had been shoved into a box and stored far down in his emotional basement for so long. Opening it, taking one thing out at a time is something he'd started with after he met Yuuri.

It had all been about the sport for such a long time, that almost everything else had been neglected. Forgotten.

"Life and Love, huh?"

As the squealing sound of the kettle pulled him back to the here and now, he went and looked for the modest assortment of teas he had. Three different kinds. He'd even bought some japanese loose-leaf the day before, but he wasn't really sure how to properly infuse it. _Yuuri will have to show me._ He settled on a bagged black tea, put the bag in the cup and poured the water.

Taking one cup in each hand, he left the kitchen to find Yuuri.

* * *

Yuuri never got far in his sightseeing. He ended up in Victor's bedroom, enchanted by what he was seeing. _So this is what it looks like, being a world champion?_ On one of the walls, Victor's whole skating history was on display.

Medals, plaques, photos. And so many.

Yuuri suddenly felt like a crazed fan, studying every photo, trying to read every plaque. Looking at the photos from Victor's teenage years, Yuuri got flashes of memories how he and Yuko tried their best to copy Victor's routines, his demeanor, his life. He remembered how he felt, being twelve years old, when he saw Victor winning the Junior Grand Prix. How he wanted to stand on the same ice as him.

"Oh, there you are." Victor's voice was warm. "I made you some tea. Here."

Yuuri accepted the cup Victor presented.

"Thanks. Hey, Victor?"

"Mhm?"

"I... was thinking. When I saw these photos," Yuuri made a little wave towards to wall, "that you're quite different. From the photos, I mean."

Yuuri saw Victor's eyes narrow, for just a fraction of a second. He suddenly felt insecure, that he'd opened up something that he shouldn't have.

"I mean," Yuuri continued, "when I look at them, the newer ones, I find myself seeing another side of you. You're smiling and all but you look lonely. Like you weren't happy." _You're not smiling_ that _smile._

Yuuri suddenly felt a shift in Victor. His eyes were colder, his posture seemed more tense.

 _I've hurt him!_

Yuuri was taken aback when Victor's response sounded cheery.

"Yuuri, once you win five consecutive WC's and GPF's, we'll have this conversation again! I'm looking forward to it!"

Yuuri felt rueful. He'd touched something he shouldn't have. His heart sank when Victor placed his unfinished cup of coffee on a dresser and started to walk out of the bedroom.

"Victor!"

"I'm going out with Makkachin. Won't be long." Victor's voice grew weaker with every step that echoed down the hallway.

Yuuri's heart trembled when he heard Victor close the front door.

* * *

Victor felt angry. And ashamed. Yuuri never deserved that passive-aggressive remark. He knew this. But, Victor also knew that he wasn't ready to talk about his sacrifices and decisions he had to make in order to succeed as an elite skater. And what it felt like to make peace with it all in order to prevent himself from being consumed.

But, as harrowing that was, he felt even more uncomfortable with Yuuri spotting it so quickly. That he'd indeed been unhappy. Lonely. Totally wrapped up in his quest for surprising people, giving the audience what they wanted. And more.

With every season, the stakes had been upped. Victor had been giving it his all, but it still wasn't enough. Why was the feeling of satisfaction gone? He wanted to create magic, stories told by the marriage between music and his body on the ice. But it had showed itself to be progressively harder with every season, and his motivation had been faltering.

"Makkachin, come!"

Victor watched as the poodle came trotting towards him. He crouched down and gave the dog a hug.

"You know what, Makkachin? It's about to change. All of it."

The poodle cocked its head to the side, listening carefully.

"You're a good boy. Come, let's go home."

* * *

Victor let Makkachin inside. The dog was quick to cuddle up in the sofa.

Victor took off his coat and his gloves, and stood to listen for a second. No, it was silent. As he removed his shoes, the ring on his right hand caught the light. He kissed it. _I've been a fool._

As he came further in, he heard the tell-tale sound of the shower being on. The door to the bathroom was slightly open, he noticed. He went past it without really looking, and decided to pick out a towel from the closet.

He walked back to the bathroom and pushed the door open.

Seeing Yuuri with his back turned to him, made Victor feel like he's been struck by lightning. Yuuri's shoulder blades were playing underneath his skin as he shampooed his hair. His muscles were extracting and contracting, painting an exquisite picture. _I'm so sorry. I never meant to tell you off._

Victor looked to the side. Yuuri had folded his used clothes neatly and had put his glasses on top of them. A new t-shirt, pajama trousers and underwear, all slightly creasy, were placed in a not-so-neat pile to the left.

"Yuuri?" Victor tried his best not to surprise him. He saw Yuuri flinch, apparently startled.

"You scared me!" His voice was sharp.

"Forgive me. I... um... brought you a towel."

Victor was spellbound, watching Yuuri tilt his head back and rinse the shampoo out. The water cascaded down his face and back. Victor noticed Yuuri spitting out a small amount of water that had been caught in his mouth.

 _I want him._

"Leave it there."

Victor stood frozen. As Yuuri turned the water off, he decided to come closer and presented the towel without a word. Yuuri took it, without looking at him.

"Yuuri, I..." _I'm sorry._

Victor couldn't restrain himself. He leaned in and licked up the small pool of water that had formed above Yuuri's collarbone, just barely touching the small of his back. He was glad to see Yuuri turning his head around, locking eyes with him.

In unison, they apologised. Verbally and physically.


	3. Chapter 3

Yuuri sat curled up in the sofa, listening to the sound of the shower. He blushed. The fire that had roared within him had turned to sparks, but the feeling still lingered. A thought passed though his mind, almost too quick to register. _When this feeling takes over, I'm helpless. It controls me. Devours me. How is it possible that it's a part of me? Me, a dime of a dozen figure skater from Japan._

In order to push aside the slight feeling of embarrassment, he picked up his phone. He started with Instagram, liked a few photos and suddenly remembered that he'd forgotten to text his mom.

 _Awkward, texting her after..._

 _To: Mom_

 _I'm sorry, mom. I forgot! I'm with Victor, everything is okay. Say hi to the others. /Yuuri_

He pressed send. _How embarrassing..._

He walked back to the bathroom, and sat down on the toilet. Next to him, Victor was rinsing off his bodywash. The smell made Yuuri feel intoxicated.

"You're quite the exhibitionist, Victor. Leaving the door open like that."

Victor laughed in response. "You and me both!"

Yuuri felt a cascade of water drops on his head as Victor leaned out of the shower. He met his mouth without hesitation. As their lips parted, Yuuri let out a small sigh.

Victor got back to rinsing off his bodywash. Yuuri looked at him furtively, and marveled at his body. Victor was rather muscular for being a figure skater. Most male skaters, Yuuri included, were lean. Still strong, but lean. It was probably ideal to be on the lean side, Yuuri thought. Easier being quicker on the ice, not having a whole lot of muscle to weigh you down. Especially in the jumps. And yet, Victor managed to combine his trained body with a flexibility and an absolute body control, something that made his every move sublime. Yuuri now understood why Victor's stamina couldn't match his on the ice. He worked twice as hard.

As Victor turned off the water, Yuuri snapped out of his reveries.

"What do you say, Yuuri? Time for bed?"

Yuuri nodded and stood up as Victor got out of the shower. Victor started to pat himself dry with a towel. Yuuri made sure to give him space as he put on his underwear. He felt in the way for some reason, but as soon as Victor tugged at his t-shirt to get another kiss, Yuuri's worries melted away.

* * *

They stood next to each other in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing their teeth. Yuuri liked their reflection. Victor had his arm around his shoulders, brushing away with the other. Yuuri was finished.

"So, where do I put it?"

Victor glanced at Yuuri with a puzzled expression.

"My toothbrush? Where do I put it?"

Victor spat out the excess toothpaste and rinsed his mouth.

"With mine, of course. Here."

Victor pointed to a frosted glass shelf on the wall and put his toothbrush in the glass placed on it.

"You live here now, Yuuri. Don't be a stranger."

Victor took Yuuri's toothbrush and dropped it next to his in the glass.

"Looks great, don't you think," Victor said. "Just like you and me."

Their eyes met in the mirror.

"Yes," Yuuri answered. "Just like you and me."

* * *

Makkachin had already sprawled himself out on the bed. Victor shook his head.

"I need to get something bigger. I should have thought of it earlier."

"No, it's fine, Victor." _I don't mind it being cramped. Not with you next to me._

"I bought an extra set of pillows and duvets today since you were coming. Should have gotten a bed instead."

Makkachin moved with a disgruntled sound to the foot of the bed as Victor grabbed the duvet. They got into bed, both of them being on their backs. Looking at the cieling.

Yuuri felt Victor's hand trailing for his under the duvet. As they found each other, Yuuri shifted to his side. Holding Victor's hand with both of his.

"Lose the t-shirt." Victors eyes were still fixed straight up. "You'll get too warm."

Yuuri felt his heart skip a beat.

As he sat up to comply with Victor's request, Victor's arms were already around him, pulling his t-shirt over his head. Victor tossed the t-shirt aside, taking Yuuri with his as he lay back down. They remained quiet, looking at each other. Forehead to forehead.

Yuuri put his hand against Victor's chest. It was calming, feeling his body warmth, his ribcage expanding with every breath.

"I... don't know what to say," Yuuri began. Victor stroked Yuuri's cheek with his thumb.

"Then don't."

For some reason, the small embers within Yuuri fired up again. Making him roar on the inside.

 _If I can't tell you, I'll show you._

Yuuri straddled Victor, pushing him down into the mattress. Grabbing hold of his hands, locking fingers. Their shared breathing was picking up. Yuuri felt Victor's ribcage and abdomen expand and rise between his legs. He felt ridiculously focused. Turned on.

"Wow."

Yuuri let Victor's barely audible remark pass without giving it any attention. He was hungry, and it was time to feed.

* * *

Yuuri woke up, feeling dizzy. At first, being half asleep, he had a hard time understanding where he had woken up. After coming to, he realised where he was.

 _At home._

Slowly limboing out of Victor's embrace without waking him, he went out into the combined livingroom and kitchen area. He found his phone in the sofa and turned it on. 04:46. _That's early._ Yuuri did a quick head count. Almost 11 in Japan.

A text from his mom. He didn't bother opening it. As he scolled down in his conversation list, he found the message from his provider. A missed call. A voicemail.

Disregarding the actual charge of listening to it, he dialled the number and put the phone to his ear.

 _"Yuuri! I guess you haven't landed yet. Call me when you do, okay? I need to hear you. I need to see you. I really, really need to feel you. Sorry, I'll keep this short."_

A pause. A long one.

Yuuri thought that Victor probably forgot to hang up, and was about to do it himself when he heard Victor continue.

 _"I love you."_

* * *

 ** _the end_**


	4. Bonus: His first time

**My lovely readers, likers and reviewers! This little story dinged a thousand views today, and I'm so incredibly happy for all your kind words and support! Since I'm a person who treats people the way I want to be treated, I present to you a little bonus chapter.**

 **Thank you so much!**

* * *

"Haaa, that was fu~n! Yuuri, you have the key?"

"Yes, it's..." Yuuri felt his pockets, not once but twice. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket with a flourish. "Taa-daah!"

"Perfect!"

Victor put his hand at the small of Yuuri's back as they entered the room. Yuuri grabbed it in response, holding it to his chest.

"You know, Victor... I'm drunk, I think."

"Yes. Yes you are," Victor responded as he undid his tie with his free hand, dropping it on the floor where he stood. "Not too drunk, though. I've seen you worse."

Yuuri blushed. He couldn't believe that he'd been terribly drunk at the banquet last year, and the things he apparently did... Sometimes it's a blessing to forget things. Although the consequences were nothing but amazing.

Yuuri plopped down on his bed. His head was spinning. He closed his eyes, trying hard not to fall asleep.

"Yuuri..."

He felt Victor's breath against his face. He noticed Victor tugging at his shirt, undoing the buttons.

"You're falling asleep, aren't you?"

"Mhm..."

"Really?" Victor's husky voice sounded like a challenge.

His chest became cold, his shirt was undone.

Victor continued, "Even if I do this?"

Yuuri felt Victor's lips on his chest. Slow, passionate kisses followed by the sensation of the cool of his tongue. He flung his eyes open.

"Told you." Victor's smile was seductive.

Yuuri struggled to sit up, feeling the alcohol rush to his head. "Victor... I..."

"You what? Tell me, Yuuri."

Victor's face was nothing but inches away from his. He felt embarrassed. He looked away.

"I just... I don't..."

"You've never been with someone before? Is that it?"

Yuuri nodded, feeling abashed.

"Ooh..."

Yuuri wasn't sure if Victor tried to convey surprise or excitement. It made him blush some more.

"Then, you'll tell me what you like. Can you do that for me, Yuuri?"

Yuuri met Victor's eyes. _He's not kidding!_

Yuuri's silence made Victor act on his own accord.

"So... do you like when I do this?" Victor pushed Yuuri back down on the bed, resuming trailing kisses over his chest.

Yuuri nodded. His heart started to race. His mouth turned inexplicably dry.

"Good." Victor's voice sounded like a purr. "And... this?" He started to nibble on Yuuri's collarbones.

Yuuri panted. He wanted more, but was too embarrassed and incapable to say anything.

"I see... This?" Victor started to kiss Yuuri's neck. Soft at first, his lips felt like feathers. Then with more resolve, grazing his teeth against his skin.

Yuuri responded by tilting his head away, giving Victor more room. Separating his lips in order to breathe.

"Good boy, Yuuri. That was really obvious, well done." Victor licked his lips. "Let's get you out of this shirt."

Yuuri propped himself up on one elbow, then the other as Victor pulled his hands out of the cuffs of the shirt. Yuuri couldn't believe that he was doing this.

"Victor?"

"Mhm..."

"I, uh..." Yuuri had a hard time concentrating with Victor kissing his neck. "You've been with... people? Right?"

Victor, apparently surprised by the question, chuckled. "What makes you think that?"

"I just... You... ah!" Yuuri felt Victor press his teeth into his shoulder. It didn't really hurt, and the heated sensation afterwards made him swallow instinctively. Yuuri tried deperately to regain his train of thought. "You... you know what to do, I mean. And it feels..." He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Feels what, Yuuri? Tell me what this makes you feel."

Yuuri shook his head.

Victor held Yuuri's face in his hands. They felt warm. Victor's unfathomably blue eyes were focused, locked with his.

As Victor leaned in, Yuuri opened his mouth. He wanted him. He knew that he wanted him. As they merged, delivering tongues, teeth, lips, exhales and soft moans against each other, Yuuri knew that there would never be another person who could take Victor's place. He would fight to make Victor remain his. Only his.

Yuuri was taken aback when Victor stopped, retracting himself from his hungry mouth and needing hands.

Victor unbuttoned his own shirt and took it off without any hesitation. "Yuuri... undress. Show yourself to me."

Again, he felt blood rush to his head, not knowing what to say. He became paralyzed.

"Tsk-tsk." Victor came closer to the bed. "Then I better help you. I wouldn't be a model coach if left my pupil in a time like this?"

Yuuri's heart was beating out of his chest. He felt like he was about to explode. Combust into a roaring fire that would consume everything in its way. But he let Victor undo his trousers, feeling turned on by the fact that Victor used both hands and teeth.

Victor pushed them halfway down Yuuri's thighs, clawing softly at them as he did.

"Please..." Yuuri couldn't think of anything else to say. He put his elbow over his eyes, feeling exceedingly turned on. Somehow thinking that he would calm himself by doing so.

"Here's the deal, Yuuri," Victor whispered, "if you want something, you must tell me what it is."

Yuuri shook his head.

"What is it you think of when you pleasure yourself? When you are alone... what turns you on?"

Yuuri stopped breathing. _I can never tell him. Oh, help me._

"Tell me, Yuuri..." Victor's breath caressed his lips. "Tell me what your guilty pleasure is?"

Yuuri felt compelled to answer. He mouthed his answer.

"Again." Victor's voice was soft.

Yuuri still couldn't produce a sound, as he moved his lips.

"Again, Yuuri. Tell me and I'll do my best to satsify you."

"YOU! IT'S YOU, OKAY!" Yuuri flung his arm away from his face, feeling agitated. Pressured. Those feelings melted away when he saw Victor's face. His eyes were soft, his smile was... absolutely breathtaking.

He wasn't sure if Victor laughed or sobbed but he presumed it was the latter, as a tear got caught in his eyelashes only to fall on Yuuri's cheek.


	5. Bonus: The 'always say no-game'

**Honestly, you guys! Another thousand views in a little more than 24 hours?! What's wrong with you, are you all pressing F5 like crazy, or what? I can't keep up with you! A** **nyway, I'm happy and thankful for all the views!**

 **New beginnings is a completed story as you know, but I couldn't really help myself uploading this little racy number for you as a bonus. Again, thank you so much.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"You understand how this game works, Yuuri?"

Yuuri panted as Victor was straddling him. He couldn't take any more teasing.

"Victor, please... Can't we just... I can't take it any more! Just let me come, please!" He felt embarrassed to beg, but every fibre of him ached. He wanted Victor to give in and give him what he desperately needed.

"Yuuri, I told you the rules already. Repeat them, I don't think you understood them." Victor was unbuttoning his shirt, really taking his time.

Yuuri closed his eyes, trying to remember what Victor had told him. He couldn't focus. He just wanted release. He shook his head.

"No?" Victor smiled. He was very entertained by this. "This is the 'always say no-game'," Victor repeated for the third time. "You can only answer 'no' to the questions I ask you. If you say 'yes', we'll switch places. Only the person being asked questions is allowed to come in the end. Okay?"

Yuuri shook his head. _Do I lose if I say yes to a question like that?_ "No?"

"Good boy, Yuuri. We haven't started yet, but this seems promising." Victor gave him a deep kiss with much tongue. Yuuri was sure that he was going to expire, if it had kept on for much longer.

"Victor? How many questions?" _Please, just a few. Please, Victor..._

"Oh, I don't know... Ten, how's that?"

Yuuri nodded. He just wanted it done. He wanted to be done.

"Also, Yuuri..." Victor leaned to reach for something on his side of the bed. "You'll need to wear this. Since we can't really trust the meaning of 'yes' and 'no' for at least some time, we need a safety procedure. If you remove this blindfold, the game's over. If you want to play, just keep it on." He showed Yuuri a necktie. It was apparent that it was going to be used as a blindfold.

Yuuri covered his face with both of his hands. How the hell did a dinner at a fancy restaurant, a walk along the Anichkov bridge and a slowdance in the livingroom turn into something like this? Sure, they had been fooling around, but Yuuri thought that they were just going to sate each other's needs then go to sleep.

"Ready?" Victor's eyes were calm. Seductively narrow. He removed Yuuri's glasses.

The last thing Yuuri saw was Victor licking his lips.

* * *

"Okay, Yuuri. No, no touching, take your hands off me. Good. We're going to warm up with some questions, just to make sure that you understand the concept. Are you okay with that?"

Yuuri hated this game already. _Do I say yes or do I say no?_

"No," he answered.

He felt Victor's hands touching his chest.

"Good. Is your name Yuuri Katsuki?"

"No." His lower lip was rewarded with a soft bite.

"Your favorite thing to eat is a katsudon?"

"Yes." _Shit._

"Yuuri... you're lucky we're still on the warm-ups. This would have made you switch places with me and and I am very good at this game."

"But Victor, I... Mmph!" Victor put his hand over Yuuri's mouth.

"No talking, Yuuri. The only thing you're allowed is to say either 'yes' or 'no'. Understand?"

"No! I..."

"Schhh. Hush." Victor licked Yuuri's lips, making him silent. "It's game time now, Yuuri. Let's play."

* * *

"Okay, Yuuri... 'No' is the only acceptable answer now if you really want what you say you do." Victor got off him.

Yuuri felt the anticipation within, but he felt a little apprehensive at the same time. The entire concept felt strange.

"So," Victor said in a very matter of factly-sounding voice, "first question. Do you like it when I do this?"

Yuuri tensed up. _What is he going to do?_ Nothing happened. Yuuri got startled, thinking that he must have been fooled by Victor. As soon as he was going to say 'no', he felt Victor's index finger inside his mouth, pressing down softly on his tongue. He answered a distorted 'no'.

"Second question." Victor retracted his finger. "Do you like it when I do this?" Victor tugged at Yuuri's briefs, pulling them down slightly on his hips.

Yuuri's heart started to race. His breathing picked up immediately. He had to rally his thoughts this time.

"...no...uh." _This is going to get so hard. I'm struggling already._

Victor laughed, or scoffed, in response. Yuuri really couldn't tell. His pulse was resounding in his ears. He was rewarded with a brief caress between his legs.

"Third question. Does this turn you on?"

Yuuri felt Victor grabbing hold of him, one hand on the shoulder and the other on his hip, rolling him over on his stomach. He heard a slight clinking sound to the side. Then a soft crack. The crack was followed by a stinging pain on the skin of his lower back.

 _A belt?! He hit me?!_

"NO!" Yuuri found this question easier. That had actually hurt a little, and the answer was sincere. In return, he felt Victor trail his tongue from the lower back, along the spine, up to his shoulder blades. He finished off with a kiss.

"I'm sorry," Victor responded. "Good to know."

Yuuri hissed a little.

"Fourth question."

Yuuri felt something cool drip down his back, pooling up just above where his skin was raw.

"You enjoy this?" Victor softly lapped up what he'd been pouring.

Yuuri sighed a little, it felt good. "No..."

Yuuri felt Victor take his hand, putting it against his own chest and waited for him to claim his reward. Yuuri slid his hand down Victor's abs, aiming to go lower, before he felt Victor grab his wrist.

"Turn around Yuuri. That's not the fifth question, I'm just telling you to."

Yuuri did as he was asked and ended up on his back. _It smarts._

"Fifth question. Pull this off and you're halfway..."

He felt Victor take his briefs off. He felt his cheeks ignite. He wasn't sure if he ejoyed it or felt embarrassed. Instictively, he hid his face with his elbow.

"You don't have to hide in embarrassment, Yuuri. You should enjoy youself, enjoy your body. There's nothing to be ashamed of." Victor paused, only briefly. "This doesn't make you feel anything special, does it?" Victor trailed his tongue along Yuuri's v-line, starting at the hip before going further down. He stopped teasingly close before going up the other side.

"...ngh... No..." Yuuri's breathing hitched. He clenched his teeth. He fawned after Victor, but he was nowhere close.

"You're such a liar, Yuuri," Victor said in a teasing voice. "I can tell you enjoyed that. Immensly."

* * *

Yuuri moaned a little. _Five more questions. Just five more..._

"My dear Yuuri... You're actually doing quite well, you're a worthy opponent. Sixth question."

Yuuri felt Victor sit down next to him. The hand closest to Victor almost reached out on its own accord. Instead of being told off, Yuuri felt Victor putting it against his cheek. He kissed it softly before he put it down.

"See that as your reward for getting this far. Again; sixth question. Would you like me to finish you off, right now?"

Yuuri swallowed. He felt Victor's breath against his lips. _Yes. YES! Oh, I so want you to. Someone help me..._ Yuuri's answer was almost inaudible. "...no..."

Victor started to kiss him. Soft at first, but they both became ravenous within seconds.

Yuuri stifled a moan when Victor's lips parted from his. He felt Victor's hands on his shoulders, keeping him pressed down into the mattress. He wanted more. He felt his desire roar inside him, desperately wanting everything Victor could ever offer.

When Victor spoke, he sounded affected by their greediness. "Seventh question, Yuuri." Then a slight shift in tone. "Are you happy here, with me?"

Yuuri almost flinched. He thought that the game had taken a strange turn. He paused for a long time, hoping that Victor would understand that he was about to say no just for the sake of the game. "No."

He felt Victor beside him. He felt warm. Feeling him close made Yuuri find some of the lust that had disappeared with Victor's seventh question. Victor's hand trailed down Yuuri's stomach, taking hold of him. Yuuri whimpered. He knew that it would be too short, but just enough to make him aroused.

His prediction was right. Victor let go of him, disappeared from his side.

"Eighth question. Do you think I'm worthy of you?"

Yuuri felt confused. He didn't like where this was going. It felt strange being teased, only to be asked questions that obliterated anything reminding of lust and arousal. What _the hell is this, Victor?_ Yuuri sighed slightly before answering, trying to make a point. "No."

He felt Victor caress his cheek. Nothing more. The cool of Victor's ring lingered.

"Ninth question, Yuuri."

 _He sounds... different. Like this isn't a game anymore._

"Did you buy your ring in Barcelona with the intention of marrying me?"

Yuuri almost instinctively answered 'yes'. In the last possible second, he uttered a 'no' instead. He felt Victor scoot down, taking him into his mouth. Yuuri gasped as he clawed at the sheets. Arching his back. Wanting to flex his hips.

Almost bringing Yuuri to a climax, Victor stopped.

"Last one Yuuri, before you get your wish. Well done." Victor sounded downhearted. "Tenth question. Do you love me?"

* * *

Yuuri felt like it all happened in one smooth move, as if it played out in slow motion. Him sitting up, ripping the necktie off his eyes. Throwing himself at Victor, tipping him over. Embracing him. Kissing him. Yuuri started to cry.

"Why would you even ask such a thing," he pressed out between his sobs. "I hate this game, what the hell, Victor?!"

Victor looked at Yuuri with the outmost love, admiration and respect in his eyes. They were wet with unshed tears, those mirrors of never-ending blue. After a while, he spoke.

"I just wanted to know".


	6. Bonus: The lists

**A small bonus, just in time for Valentine's Day. As always, thank you :)**

* * *

It was supposed to be friendly competition, all in the name of love. As they gave each other sealed envelopes, being close to each other in bed, they could feel their competitive sides ignite.

"So, the winner is granted one wish? Anything?"

"Well, it can't be totally unreasonable, but yes. That's what we agreed to, right?"

"In that case... Prepare yourself to be forced down on your knees in defeat, Victor."

"Hey, mind reader. The wish is supposed to be granted _after_ I win, right?

A bubbling laugh. A warm goodnight kiss. And a sleep with hot and lucid dreams.

* * *

Victor woke up first, which wasn't a surprise. He really embodied the aspects of being a morning person. Also, thinking about today's possible activities had played a part in his disrupted sleep.

He ripped open his envelope, taking out his list. He read through the five listed tasks. His eyes ended up reading the last one a couple of times. He laughed. _Nice try, Yuuri. Kind of clever too. I'm going to ask you about it, you just wait._

He got out of bed and started with the very first task on his list. He went over to their walk-in closet. Victor took his time, started with picking out a pair of black skinny jeans that were stylishly ripped at the knees. _He never wore these, the tag's still on._ He found a thin, olive-coloured knitted sweater with a scoop neckline. He was happy with his choices, and picked out socks and... _underwear? I'm not so sure if I want him to wear any today..._ A smile played on his lips. He decided to see what the reaction would be. He knew that Yuuri would get flustered since they were going to practise after breakfast, but he didn't care. ' _Pick out what I'm going to wear'. Check._

He continued with his second task. He took down two bowls and picked out spoons from the drawer. He filled the bowls with yoghurt and added some walnuts and just a little bit of honey. _Maybe something to drink too..._ After he put the kettle on, he brought out a tray and tea mugs. Although he preferred coffee, he drank tea every once in a while. To be honest, he wanted to be sure that he would wake Yuuri up with his offering and decided that he didn't have the time to wait for his beverage of choice.

 _There we go. 'Offer me breakfast in bed', check._

Victor felt confident. There was no way he was losing this.

* * *

"Yuu~ri..." Victor's voice was like a purr. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Yuuri slowly got guided back from his sleep, with a tender combination of nuzzles and kisses. He rolled over to his back. Rubbed his eyes. Yawned a little and stretched out with a little sigh.

"Hey, you." Victor's hand felt warm against his skin.

"Mmmh," he sighed. He really wasn't a morning person. It was the same sad struggle every morning.

"I've made you breakfast. I'm way ahead of you, you know."

It made him open his eyes. _Oh, that's right. The lists!_

Victor was leaning over him, being the first thing he saw. Appropriately enough. Yuuri put his hand on the back on his head and pulled him down, enjoying how his day had started so far. The kiss added to that feeling.

"Good morning, Victor."

"Hungry?"

Yuuri sat up and accepted the bowl of yoghurt, thinking that they always should be writing lists.

"Open up," he said and offered Victor a spoonful. Victor obliged. Yuuri licked off the excess from the spoon before putting it back in his bowl, trying to get one of the walnuts to ride along into his mouth.

"That's hot." Victor had stopped in mid-motion, tilting his spoon in the process. Dripping yoghurt on the sheets.

Yuuri leaned in and licked the corner of Victor's mouth. "You're such a messy eater."

"If you're going to keep this up, then I'll be dead by lunchtime."

Yuuri snickered. "Can I have your list, please?" He opened the envelope and looked at Victor. Then, back at the list. "Victor..."

"What? We had no rules, as far as I remember."

"No, I know. But, honestly... The things you want me to do, I'm going to..."

"Hey, speaking of which! Your last task on your list. Are you kidding me? Is that why all the others are so simple?"

"You read me like an open book," Yuuri laughed. "So are you? Giving in, I mean? I'll make it worth your while." _I thought I was clever. 'Admit defeat and I swear I'll make it good'._

"No. No way! It's on, Yuuri Katsuki!"

"Okay. You do realise that you can't possibly win without giving in, though? It's on the list, you know."

"I want to enforce a new rule in that case. The one with the most completed tasks is the winner by the end of the day. You play dirty, you know that? Smart, but dirty."

Yuuri thought about it. He would have to up his game in order to beat Victor. He wasn't going to back down, though.

"If I say yes to this new rule of yours, have I surprised you?"

"I... yes, I'd say you have!"

 _This will be awkward, but... 'Surprise me", check._

* * *

They had a training with the rest of the Russian team. Yakov was in a really bad mood, saying that he felt like a keeper at a zoo. Today, that was definitely the case.

Yuuri had one task on his list he felt bad about. 'Make Yurio leave the rink, at least once.' _How do I do that?_ He tried to find a solution, but ended up being really unfocused. He flubbed jumps and misunderstood instructions.

During a small break, he saw that Victor was being scolded by Yakov with Yurio as a bystander. _This is my chance. I... I'm going to kill two birds with one stone. I feel so mortified! No, I can do this._

He skated up to them, but remained on his side of the boards. He tried to get Victor's attention, but he was too busy not paying attention to Yakov that it was impossible. Yuuri decided to join them, and walked off the ice. He decided to start with the least awkward task. To get Yurio to leave, preferrably by making him annoyed.

"So, uh... Yurio? How's Otabek?"

Yurio scoffed in response.

"Uh... I mean, how are things between you two?"

"What do you mean, pig?"

"I don't know. Aren't friends supposed to keep in touch?"

"Why do you care? Don't be an idiot."

Seemed like he was getting nowhere. Making him upset didn't feel right to him. Yuuri decided that he would have to engage plan Z. _I'm going to die, this is so embarrassing! I really don't want to do this but... he's not going to win._ He took a deep breath. Steeled himself. He knew that he would probably hear this for months to come, but he really couldn't find another solution.

He stepped up to Victor and gave him a deep kiss. One with too much tongue. Just for the heck of it, he glanced a little in Yurio's direction. Caught his eye for a fraction of a second. It was all it took, although he wanted to be swallowed up by the earth and never emerge again.

"What the hell, you guys! You're not at home, keep that kind of stuff to your goddamn BEDROOM! Fuck! Yakov, what the hell?! This _is_ a fucking zoo!" Yurio turned around and headed for the locker room.

 _And now, initialising phase two._

"Yuuri! Victor! You really have to treat this place as a work space from now on! It's unacceptable behavior. You," he turned to Victor, "constantly mouthing off! As if you're owning the place! And you," this time directed at Yuuri, "acting like this is some kind of... kind of... I don't know, but it's not a skating rink to you, is it?!"

Yuuri hated himself for what he was about to do. _Damn you, Victor._ He leaned in and whispered in Victor's ear. "I can totally see that you're turned on by this, I felt it when you were near me. I still do. You're pulsating. You're a lewd and filthy man, and I... am wearing underwear!"

He bowed apologetically to Yakov, turned on his heels and hurried away. His cheeks were burning. His mind was racing. All he could do was to hope that Yurio still wouldn't be in the locker room. _'Say something dirty at the worst possible time.' Check._

* * *

Yakov had been furious and ended the session early. Mila and Georgi thought that Yakov was having a bad day, but Victor and Yuuri knew better. Yuuri was burdened with a guilty conscience on the way home, Victor was beaming.

"I never thought you had it in you, Yuuri! I'm impressed!"

"Don't be an idiot." He made an exasperated sound. "You made me look like an ass in there. I'm annoyed with you!"

"Hey now, I'm not to blame for the actions you took. You could probably have found 'some other way with solving both of those tasks." Victor put his arm around Yuuri. "I'm sorry. But... I thought you were awesome. And cute."

"Who are you again?"

"Sorry?"

"Who are you, making advances like that, putting your arm around me? Do we know each other, stranger?"

Victor hesitated for a second before he understood what was going on. _Oh, this is going to be amusing._

"I thought you acted deplorable in there. Definitely a man of my own heart. I would love to get to know you better, if I may."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm seeing someone. I'm to be wed eventually. See?" Yuuri flashed his ring.

"Oh, what a lucky guy. I can't convince you to, oh, I don't know, make an indiscretion?"

"I think I love him too much for that. Sorry. You seem nice, though. Or, wait! I see a ring on your finger too. You're not telling me that you're thinking of straying, not keeping your promise to your... wife?"

"My wife? Oh, you got me, there. Frankly, before I get married I would love to find out what it's like being with a man. Tell me, your fiancé... does he treat you right? Does he satisfy you? What does it feel like to have his hands on you, on your hips, when he's whispering your name as he comes?"

Yuuri felt his cheeks heat up. Oddly enough, this little role play had taken away any previous embarrassment he had been carrying around. Replacing it with something else entirely.

"Oh," Victor cooed, "is he that good? Is that why your cheeks ignite lite that? Wow, lucky guy..."

"He, uh..." Yuuri swallowed, trying to come up with something to say. Trying to get in control of his prickling lust and desire. "He is amazing. He really is. He... makes me feel things I've never felt before. He guides me. I... He... he's my first and I can't imagine being with someone else. And... yes, when he," his voice became almost inaudible, " _comes_ , I... I feel like I love him a little bit more with each and every time."

"Tell me, what does it _feel_ like?"

"It feels like... It feels like I belong with him. It's not just because of the closeness, it's everything else. I feel... I feel like I rule the world! And having his hands on me only intensifies that. Having him i... ins..."

"Inside of you?"

"Yes! It only cements that feeling. It's us, physically, emotionally, intellectually. Sexually too... That's what it is, what it feels like. I'm sorry, stranger. I'm just scrambling for words."

"You've made your point perfectly clear. Hey, where are you going?" Victor broke character and watched as Yuuri made a detour, almost being outside their building.

"Stranger? All this talk started an itch I can't scratch and I... hope you won't tell your wife about this indiscretion. Are... are you coming?" ' _Role play with me on our way home.' Check._

* * *

They had tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, as they went around their building to get access to the garage. In a dim corner, behind a pickup truck, they acted out some more. Got in and out of character, and loved every convulsing second of it.

Victor had totally forgotten all about the lists. As they stood in the elevator, with messy hair and crumpled clothes, he couldn't care less about them. What he cared about stood next to him, having flushed cheeks and a small streak of motor oil on his forehead.

They came through the front door, glancing at each other. Almost in a coy way.

"Shower?" Yuuri took off his coat.

"Yes." Victor paused. "Yuuri? I... wow, I just don't know what to say."

"Then don't. Come. You are filthy and lewd after all."

They both petted Makkachin before they followed each other into the bathroom, getting rid of the clothes that almost had been off just a few minutes ago. They ended up just standing there, underneath the showerhead, as the water got warmer.

"Are we still doing the lists," Victor asked after a while.

Yuuri peered up at him as Victor pushed wet, black hair out of his face.

"I don't know. Are we? You're crossing one out right now, as far as I remember. Taking a shower with me."

"You know, I can happily say that I never thought this day to end up like this when we wrote them."

"Me neither. It's been fun. Mostly embarrassing, no scratch that. Mortifying to be honest, but fun."

"So," Victor reached for a shampoo bottle and started to lather up Yuuri's hair, "who won? Whose wish is to be granted at the end of the day?"

"Considering tasks preformed, I won. Not that it matters."

"Oh? Are you forfeiting?"

Yuuri kissed Victor's chest and leaned his head back a little to rinse out the shampoo. Victor helped with his hands to get it out.

"If I'm giving it up in order to make you happy, I'd do it in a heartbeat. So... What's your wish, Victor?"

Victor kept his hands in Yuuri's hair, stroking in back repeatedly although there was no shampoo left to be rinsed out. He was thinking. _What's my wish? What do I wish for, right now? What can this beautiful person do to make my life the best one I can ever have?_

It came to him. He leaned in, and whispered something in Yuuri's ear. Their eyes met. Shortly after, so did their lips. Yuuri knew he would have no problems with making Victor's wish come true. Not now or in the future.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Victor."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Yuuri."

 **~the end~**


	7. Bonus: Crossed legs and tears

**Oh, how I love you guys! Constantly reading, commenting and favoriting. It's amazing to me :)**

 ** _New beginnings_ is still going strong hit-wise, although I've been slacking off! Since last time I wrote a small bonus-thing, it has gained two thousand hits. Like, what? Ermergerd!? **

**Without further ado, here's a short but sweet bonus chapter for you! I'm curious to explore small but quirky things Yuuri might be doing that Victor in return finds totally endearing.**

 **I can totally recommend you watching the movie mentioned in this story. It's beautiful.** **As always, thank you!**

* * *

"Yuuri?"

Victor yawned. Stretched. But got no answer. He rubbed his eyes a little, then looked around. Apparently, Yuuri was up already, which was good. He was apparently feeling better.

As he walked out of the bedroom, he could see him. Sitting on the sofa. Wrapped in his duvet from bed, in front of his laptop.

"Good morning. Feeling better?" He could see him jump a little, he had startled him. Victor saw Yuuri press the space bar, apparently pausing what he was watching.

"Much better. I don't think I have a fever today." His voice sounded a little bit hoarse, still.

"Stubborn flu," Victor said as he came over. He kissed his hair. Felt his forehead and cheeks. He was a little warm, but not like before. "What are you watching?"

"Oh, I don't know," Yuuri said. The paused image on the screen showed a man in his underwear. He was making coffee. "There's this guy," he pointed at the man on the screen, "who picks someone up at a bar and they go home together."

"Aha. A love story, then?"

"I think so. I heard that it was supposed to be good, so..."

"You're watching it with subtitles? Is it foreign?"

Yuuri laughed a little. "It's British, but the dialect is... I don't get all of it. American English is simpler."

Victor ruffled Yuuri's hair a bit. "What's it called?"

"Weekend."

"Never heard of it. Hey, you want something?"

"Tea would be great, thanks." Yuuri barely managed to finish his sentence before he sneezed, covering his mouth with his arm.

"I think you're getting tissues too. That's just gross," Victor said with a laugh as he walked to the kitchen.

* * *

After making tea for Yuuri and coffee for himself, he decided to go back to bed together with his cup. He'd started reading Haruki Murakami's 1Q84 after Yuuri praising it without ever stopping, and he found it to be really interesting. Very hard to put away. Drinking coffee and reading in bed felt like a luxury, but that's what being between two skating seasons was all about. Winding down, recuperating and taking care of oneself.

After a while, he noticed that the flat was completely silent. Nothing was heard from the living room at all. _Bet he fell asleep._

He peered out. Yuuri had headphones on this time. He had covered his mouth with his hand, looking a little bit to the side. As he crossed his legs, Victor's interest piqued. _Strange, he was watching it with subtitles?_ And w _hat's with those crossed legs, Yuuri?_

He walked over, not really sneaking but not making it entirely obvious either, and stood behind the sofa. On the screen, there were two men in bed having sex. Victor had to bite himself in the cheek to prevent himself from laughing. _He's just adorable. Honestly, Yuuri..._

As the man on the recieving end got dragged towards his benefactor, Victor couldn't help himself. He leaned in from behind and the words rolled off his lips without him even thinking. "Wow, amazing! That's hot!" _I wish I could hear the audio!_

Yuuri jumped. Made a sound of surprise. And... yes, that was definitely an embarrassed look on his face as he removed his headphones in a swift move. Yuuri was too dumbfounded to pause the movie, and the sounds of moans and wet kisses coming out of the headphones continued.

Victor snickered, and hit the space bar. The men on the screen were passionately panting into the mouths of each other. The subtitle read 'I think... Stop, I'm gonna come'.

"You're watching a gay movie?" Victor couldn't stop smiling. "All alone?"

Yuuri was looking away. Flushed, and not from fever this time. He made no effort to meet Victors gaze. Almost disappearing into the dark depths of the duvet.

"I see," Victor said. He wasn't really expecting an answer. "You don't have to feel embarrassed. It was really hot. I... can clearly see what effect it has on you." He didn't mean to tease him, but there was no other way of putting it. He kissed his cheek. "You could have asked me to join you. It seems... interesting." _I can't believe how cute he is!_

He gave Yuuri's cheek a small touch before he returned to the bedroom. Hardly keeping his laughter under control.

* * *

He'd been reading for maybe fifteen minutes when Yuuri came to the bedroom, trailed by his duvet. Victor was worried that Yuuri would feel uncomfortable by the event that had taken place before, but felt good when he came close and curled up next to him. Victor propped his book up with the help of his legs and his free arm, pulling Yuuri close with the other.

After reading maybe two additional pages, he noticed that his shoulder was wet. Yuuri was quivering. _Okay, don't make a big deal out of this._

"Sad ending, huh" he asked as he dropped the book on the floor, pulling Yuuri to his chest.

Yuuri nodded and sniffed a little.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Yuuri shook his head and let out a barely audible whimper. It made Victor's heart swell. Made him fall in love with him more, with every shivering exhale.

 **~the end~**


	8. Bonus: Might and mouthwash

**Again, I just love you guys! Thank you for all your comments and hits! Since I've been on the lazy side, I haven't been keeping up with treating you right for being so kind! Hope this little racy number will make you forgive me :)**

 **I'm still exploring Yuuri's possible quirks and what Victor thinks of them. Lovely theme, I think. Enjoy and thanks again!**

* * *

He'd been teasing him all day. Or, that's what it felt like. Furtive touches, kisses slightly too long for them to mean nothing, smiling eyes and always an excuse to stand close. A little too close. Victor was going crazy. He wanted him, and yet... why did Yuuri act so oblivious in regard to what he was doing? Oblivious to the effect he had on him? Surely, he meant something with his actions?

Victor wanted to repay him. Make him feel as good as he'd been making him throughout the day, at least for a little while. He decided to find out if that was possible.

* * *

He was propped up on one elbow, looking down on him. Still the same smiling eyes. His hand felt warm against his cheek. But still no official invite. Everything about him said something else, though. As if he thought of him as indeed sought after, welcomed. A harbinger of enjoyment and delight. It was almost like a challenge. A non-verbal act of testing the might of the other.

It was arousing, this little game he played. It happened every once in a while. Victor still wasn't sure what brought this on, the playfulness, the pretending of being hard to get. The false pretense of not being interested at all. But... he wasn't supposed to win. In Victor's mind, the winner was the one who wouldn't give in. And oh, how he wanted Yuuri to just say the magic word. But, since he still wasn't sure of the rules, he decided to enforce some of his own. _You just wait, I'm upping my ante. I am going to make you beg. With no touching at all._

"So," Victor started from his vantage point, "my love. Are you up for doing anything tonight?" Maybe it was blunt, but he reasoned it would save them both some time.

"No, not really," Yuuri answered without faltering. It seemed like his smile had trickled down, affecting both his eyes and mouth. He was blatantly enjoying this.

"Really? What would you suggest we should do instead?"

"Oh, I don't know. Sleep, perhaps?"

Victor's mind raced. What would be the better move? Pretend to agree to Yuuri's terms or stick to the plan without hesitation? Victor decided on the latter.

"I see. Well, I think you should lose your shirt. It'll get hot for you, I'm sure." Yuuri almost always slept in nightwear. Asking him to undress would be the first step to victory. It was something Victor almost always did too, so it wouldn't seem conspicuous to if he did it tonight.

They were looking at each other. Victor felt as if Yuuri was sizing him up. Evaluating if he had asked the question out of habit or with ulterior motives.

"Sure," Yuuri finally said, and pulled his t-shirt over his head.

 _He's got quite the poker face today. I think he's on to me. All the better. It's not going to be what you think, Yuuri. Not at all._

"Then... goodnight." Yuuri turned to his side, his face away from Victor.

Victor felt a surge. It was officially beginning. He couldn't wait.

* * *

Victor let him settle. He initially thought that he was being cruel, letting everything simmer down. Lulling him into thinking that he'd won. But it was a part of the game. The push and pull.

He wasn't entirely covered by the duvet. _A very conscious choice. Well played._ Victor decided to begin.

He put his mouth close, almost on the exposed back. He exhaled, letting warm and wet huffs of air envelop one small part of skin at a time. Maybe twice, his lips came to touch the cool of Yuuri's skin. Victor thought it was all for good measure.

Yuuri shifted eventually, letting more of his back show. Victor instinctively wet his lips. _One battle won._

He grew a bit more bold. Did the same thing on the back of Yuuri's neck and on the exposed shoulder. Watching him closely with every exhale. _He's holding his breath. He's waiting. Waiting for my next move._

He let his lips flutter over his earlobe before he spoke. "Yuuri? I know you're awake. I just wanted to ask you one thing... Earlier today, at practise. Do you remember what happened?"

Victor wasn't expecting a reaction from him, and wasn't surprised that he got none. He continued with the same low voice as before. "Do you remember touching me? It wasn't a slip of the hand, now was it? Did you enjoy it? Did it excite you?"

A small reaction. A small inhale. A small frown. And a very reluctant swallow. _Reflexes never lie, Yuuri._

"I would like to know, what were you thinking? There, when you thought we were all alone? I saw them, though. The eyes that were on you and me. I can tell you what I thought in that particular moment. I wanted to have you. I wanted to press you against the wall, leaving you no chance of getting away. I wanted you to see what you and you alone do to me. I wanted more of your hands on me. And I wanted them to watch."

He finished with a little bite. He withdrew, decided to bide his time. And lot before long, Yuuri was on his back, looking for those blue eyes of his.

* * *

They said nothing. It was enough meeting each other with hungry eyes. Victor decided to remain passive, curious to find out what Yuuri would do now that they were on his side of the battlefield. He had to make a move for this to continue.

A hand emerged from underneath the duvet. Victor moved away. Shook his head a little. _That's not going to cut it._

It was like he was pondering over what to do next. Victor got a feeling that Yuuri expected him to act, but he stood his ground. Remained sitting, just a little more than an arm's length away. Yuuri removed the duvet from his upper body, making a new bet in this enticing game for two. Victor felt a sting. He suddenly wanted to give in, come at him. His muscles had tensed up before he realised it, ready to go on any given signal.

Luckily for him, he managed to make contact with his mind. _No. He's the one who's going to do the begging._

"I'm not going to," Victor said. _Your move._

Yuuri came closer. Closed the gap by moving on his hands and knees over the bed before sitting next to him. Victor could feel his body heat, although they weren't touching. He tried to decipher his face. The smile was gone, and his face showed determination instead. Arousal too. The slightly parted lips, the narrowed eyes. Victor felt content. He was indeed pulling the strings.

"I want to come closer." Yuuri's voice couldn't hide his excitement.

"You may," Victor responded. He couldn't help but smile. His heart was expanding with love. _He's playing along._

Yuuri got close. Put his legs over Victor's so that they sat face to face. He took hold of his thighs to pull himself even more into him.

 _No, he's not playing along. He's playing me._

* * *

 _I'm meeting him with my mouth, and nothing else._ Victor repeated his mantra in his head. It was hard, trying to concentrate. Trying to stay in control. With Yuuri so close, basically sitting on him... He could feel his own pulse, tick-tocking in his temples. Revving up with every small shift Yuuri made, sitting so close to him.

His breath was hot on him. On his face, his neck and shoulders. His mouth suddenly felt dry, but Victor remembered Yuuri's reaction from earlier. He wasn't going to swallow. He was going to endure.

Yuuri was caressing his chin and neck with his face. Again, those hot exhales. Almost sighs against his skin. It was excruciating, like he was preparing a counter measure.

Then, he was touching him. He came even closer, his chest was merged with his. His hands were in his hair. Brushing it back, away from his face, time and time again. The hands started to wander. Victor responded by resting his head on Yuuri's shoulder. He felt weak. Consumed. _He's ending me._

"I can feel you," Yuuri said into his ear. "You're throbbing against me."

Victor sighed into Yuuri's neck. He wanted to beg. He wanted to get his just reward, but pride kept him from wavering. He still hadn't touched him, still hadn't kissed him. He figured that there was a chance. A chance to turn the tables. He didn't know how to make it so, but he decided to try with words.

"How does that make you feel?" He just uttered the first words that came to him.

Yuuri paused. Leaned back a little so that he could see his face. He looked flushed, Victor thought. _Maybe I can tip him over?_

"Tell me," Victor resumed, "how you feel about knowing how you affect me? Knowing that you're the reason to all this?"

Yuuri came close, an eyelash away. As he answered, his lips were touching Victor's. Tickling him with every word.

"I feel empowered. I feel like... I'm seen. By you."

 _He's not giving in. He's relentless._

"What," Victor had to swallow, finally, "do you want to do? When you're empowered? When you're seen?"

"I want to be in control."

"In what way?"

A smile teased Yuuri's lips. Victor understood what it was about. He was not the one winning this.

* * *

He was coerced into letting his back touch the bed. Not by kisses, not by touches of the hands. He was gently tipped over, by Yuuri's body. Pushing into him until he gave in.

Victor could feel his self-restraint fade away, like a memory. Like it never had been there in the first place. Having Yuuri on top of him like that added to its demise. Feeling his lips on his, the kisses growing shorter and hungrier with every breath, made him prepare for one last push.

"I... I want your hands on me. Why aren't you touching me?" Yuuri breathed his words into Victor's mouth.

It was now or never.

"You want me to?" Victor had a hard time speaking. "You want me to touch you, Yuuri?"

"Yes." Yuuri's breathing sounded like a staccato. "Please."

 _Finally._

* * *

It all turned into a haze. They had switched places, and rallied together against Yuuri's pajama bottoms. Kicking and clawing them off. Feeling each other without any restraints.

Victor felt Yuuri's hands in his hair. He just wanted to hear it, one last time.

"Do you want this?" He kissed his bare hips. Ate them, almost.

Yuuri nodded.

"Tell me, do you want this?" The war was almost won.

"Yes, yes! Please, yes!" Yuuri's voice was a cry. He shielded his face with an arm.

* * *

Victor's war spoils tasted metallic and salty. He reached for the glass of water on the side table and emptied it. He felt parched.

Seeing Yuuri, hiding his face as he gasped for air, made something inside him stir. He felt the outmost adoration for him. All of a sudden, the game was over and the world's most wonderful carriage had turned into a pumpkin and was now reaching for his hand. Victor held it, and leaned in for a kiss.

"No..." Yuuri's voice was low. "I... I can't have you tasting of... of it like that."

Victor smiled. He was indeed a pumpkin. As always after sex. The most endearing, adorable and precious pumpkin. _Where does all that empowerment go afterwards? And where does he find it again? You're so full of surprises, Yuuri._

"No problem. I'll go brush my teeth."

He rested his hand on his cheek before getting out of bed. As he was about to leave the bedroom, Yuuri spoke.

"Victor? What do you do with it? Afterwards?" He sounded shy.

"What? What do you mean?" _Oh... Oh, I see... I love you, I hope you know that._ "I swallow."

Yuuri disappeared underneath the duvet.

* * *

Victor brushed his teeth and finished the routine off with mouthwash. As he gargled, he heard Yuuri coming in. Felt his arms around him from behind. He spat the mouthwash out.

"Can I have my payment now," he said with a smile as he turned around.

Yuuri tilted his chin upwards and greeted him softly.

Their eyes met in the mirror, relishing their reflection. This is what it was all about. Being each other's push and pull. Even after the magic disappears at the strike of midnight.

 **~the end~**


	9. Bonus: Feet and flirtations

**Hey you guys! As always, I'm super thankful for all the views and comments I get. 'New Beginnings' is like a train, it just keeps on going! Or rather, you keep reading it and liking it and for that, you must be rewarded. Again, here's a sweet little story about a possible Yuuri-quirk for you as thanks.**

 **xoxo**

* * *

"Victor! Yuuri!" Christophe stood up as soon as he saw them enter the small bistro. He waved to get their attention.

"There he is," Victor smiled. "This'll be fun! Right, Yuuri?"

Yuuri nodded. "Beats sitting holed up in a hotel room. But this place is really tiny..."

The pair walked up to Christophe who greeted them with the usual three kisses, placed on the cheeks. Very European, Yuuri thought. Very... Chris.

"Here, Yuuri." Christophe pulled out a chair next to him. "Victor," he continued and pointed to the chair opposite Yuuri.

"Thanks, Chris," Victor said as he took off his coat and hung it on the back of the chair. "We're one person short, though. Where is your mystery man?"

"He'll be here. He's usually early, him being late surprises me." Christophe winked a little. "Great to see you both. Imagine, we're all meeting up in the capital of love, huh?"

"What a fluke. Shall we order some drinks?"

"Absolutely!"

* * *

The three of them ordered some drinks. Two of them ordered some more, while waiting.

"Oh, you are thirsty! I must stay somewhat sober for a little while longer," Christophe said. "He doesn't drink and gets annoyed with me if I fill myself up in the company of other men."

Victor laughed, very amused by the innuendo.

Yuuri felt slightly uncomfortable. Meeting new people, being in France and not really knowing the social cues, the language... He felt his skin prickle. It felt good drinking some beer, it made him relax. Being Japanese, he was usually hit by the buzz faster than, say Russians. He longed for it to happen.

After something that felt like an eternity to Yuuri, Christophe's company showed up. He introduced himself, but his accent was too thick for him to understand. _Oh, this is so awkward. I can't ask him his name, not immediately after he told me!_

"I'm sorry, my English is... so-so. Parlons en français, d'accord?"

"Non, Yuuri ne comprend pas," Victor interjected.

"I try English," he said with a smile as he sat down opposite Christophe.

"Merci," Christophe said whilst squeezing his hand.

* * *

Since the bistro was very intimate, it was hard to claim any personal space. They ordered food, and it was a challenge not elbowing or bumping into people as they ate. Yuuri had a hard time feeling at ease with this, and felt a small jab of envy when he noticed that Christophe, his date and Victor weren't affected by the constant intrusions.

"Another beer, please?"

Victor raised an eyebrow. He had noticed that Yuuri was struggling, but he had decided not to draw attention to the subject by bringing it up. It could be fun with Yuuri being slightly intoxicated, he thought.

 _"Hey,"_ Christophe's date said in French, _"is he going to be okay? He's had quite a lot already."_

 _"He's going to be fine,"_ Victor replied. A smile played on Victor's lips when Christophe's eyes met his. They knew from experience what could happen, and one might say that they were secretly wishing for a little diversion to come their way.

* * *

Yuuri had reached his limit two beers ago. He wasn't tipsy anymore. He was drunk. It felt wonderful. His inhibitions were gone, he felt more at ease. Life felt amazing, all of a sudden. He somewhat noticed that Victor and the others were having coffee. That told him that he would be alone with Victor soon and... that would be amazing too.

He kicked off one of his shoes underneath the table and stroked Victor's shin with his foot. Victor was quick to look at him, with a smile that Yuuri interpreted as a challenge. Until they left, Yuuri had decided that he was going to make sure that their night ended on a happy note. Yuuri was happy to feel Victor's hand on his calf. He apparently wanted to play too.

He grew bolder, trailing his foot up towards Victor's knee. He got no reaction from him. _So you're going to play hard to get, Victooo~r? I'll show you!_

* * *

He flinched. _What is he doing?! Again?!_ It was the third time he felt his toes on the inside of his thigh, right above the knee. _He really had too much to drink. That's a bit embarrassing._

When he felt the toes on top of his thigh, trying to find their way to his crotch, he decided to do something. Or, at least say something.

 _"Chris, chéri... Victor's boyfriend is feeling me up with his foot. He's like two inches away from my crotch."_ Of course, he whispered. It wouldn't be very gentlemanlike to say it out loud.

 _"Reaaally? Oh, this is going to be amazing!"_

 _"Amazing? But, Chris... He's-"_ He squirmed. The toes had found their goal. _"Can't I tell Victor? It's embarrassing!"_ His voice was slightly shrill.

Christophe grinned. _"Do what you think is best. I really enjoy watching this..."_ There was a heavy emphasis on the words of the last sentence.

 _"Excuse me, Victor?"_

 _"Yes?"_

 _"I... uh, your fiancé is quite drunk. He's been caressing my leg with his foot for at least twenty minutes now. I haven't done anything to him and, well, I just thought you should know."_

Victor looked at him, without batting an eye. Those blue eyes were radiating.

 _"Oh, I know."_

 _"Wh... what?!"_

A snicker, and a beaming smile. _"I know. I think it's time for us to go. Thank you for the company, it's been... delightful."_

Victor and Christophe looked at each other, knowing from experience what would happen.

"Come Yuuri, time to go. Let's find your shoe, shall we?"

* * *

They slowly walked back to the hotel, Yuuri staggering with Victor's arm as support around his waist.

"Victooo~r? How come you plei it so kewl in dere? I wus totally feelin' you up, yanno?"

"Oh, I don't know, Yuuri. Why do you think I played it so cool in there?"

"I dunno... I had muh foot on yer... yer... yanno an' you were like supah kewl! Pohkar face!"

"I guess you have to try harder next time? Put your heart into it?" Victor had no luck with keeping a straight face.

"Yup, I'll do dat! An' Victooo~r? Know wut?"

"No, what?"

"I luv you. So much!"

"I love you too, Yuuri. Love you too."

Apparently, a small bistro in France can prove to be intimate in so many ways than one. Imagine the things you can learn in the capital of love.

 **~the end~**


	10. Bonus: Cheers and inhibitions

**You guys! Thank you so, so, so much for all the comments, hits and follows. You rock my world! Another thousand hits, just like that?!**

 **Another Yuuri-quirk, just for you! Go Team, GO!**

 **xoxo**

* * *

Summer. An excellent time for trying things you normally wouldn't. At least in Victor's mind.

He loved being in Japan, especially during the summer months. The culture was so different from his own, the ambience made him speechless. He wanted to dive into every single thing without a thought of hesitation. He felt awkward at times, acting before thinking, putting himself in situations he didn't quite understand, but… He was never afraid.

Having Yuuri with him had that effect. Always being calm and level-headed, patient and lenient. With him, there were no reasons to be worried. He had his back, carefully guiding him through the rich tapestry of Japanese culture.

But then again, there are some things Yuuri finds uncomfortable. Being thrown into unfamiliar settings is one.

* * *

 _"Dad, I don't know. It's not my kind of thing."_

 _"Come on, son. I must help your mother. Just take them, okay? I'd hate it if they were wasted. Maybe Victor wants to go?"_

 _"I don't think Victor likes…"_

"I just heard my name, I think! What are you talking about?"

Yuuri sighed. Victor had a knack for showing up when he really wasn't needed. He really didn't want to go, but the cat was out of the bag now. He decided to tell him.

"It's like this. Dad has to help mom, there are guests arriving today. Seems like he had tickets to something and he wants us to take them instead. I don't think you want to, though." _Please, please, please understand that I don't want to go, Victor!_

"Wow, amazing! Tickets to what?" Victor's eyes were beaming. He wasn't a person who knew restraint, Yuuri thought. Or the word 'no'. Or even 'maybe'.

"Soccer. It's Sagan Tosu against..." Yuuri switched to Japanese. _"Sagan Tosu against what, dad?_ "

 _"Gamba Osaka!"_

"Gamba Osaka. Apparently."

"Oh, don't be like that, Yuuri! Let's go! It'll be fun!"

Yuuri reluctantly accepted the tickets, whilst watching Victor thank his dad with smiles and handshakes before heading in the other direction, loudly declaring that football demanded that the supporters should be dressed in the proper attire.

* * *

They arrived at Tosu Stadium. The supporters were warming up outside, cheering.

"It's noisy," Yuuri screamed into Victor's ear.

"What? I can't hear you! It's loud out here!"

After they were allowed inside, Victor excused himself. Telling Yuuri to find their seats. Yuuri looked at his ticket, and walked on. It was indeed noisy, crowded and… well, just about everything he found cumbersome.

He found their seats eventually, and sat down. He took out his phone from his pocket and did the usual SNS-routine.

Victor had posted on Instagram. Yuuri smiled when he saw the photo. Victor was standing in line for something, having his arms around two Sagan supporters. They were beaming, the three of them.

 **v-nikiforov**

23 likes

 **v-nikiforov** I made new friends! Off to watch football :D

posted 12 minutes ago

 _He's loving this. That smile! I must kiss him when he gets back here._

"Yuuri! Surprise!"

* * *

Indeed, it was. It was Victor's voice, coming from behind. He had put something over Yuuri's head.

Yuuri found his way out of his fabric prison, and noticed that Victor had bought them matching supporter t-shirts. _That's sweet._

Victor, being Victor, had gone all in. Not only had be bought a t-shirt, but a sweatband, a scarf and a cap in the shape of the bird the team used as a mascot. He blended in perfectly. Or at least, that what he seemed to think. He was more decked out than the rest of the Sagan supporters, to be honest. A sight for sore eyes, dressed in blue and pink.

"You're crazy, you know that?" Yuuri grabbed the scarf around his neck and pulled him in, barely being able to kiss him due to him smiling with his whole face.

Victor put his arm around him and spoke into his ear. "It's time for kick off. Let's cheer our hearts out!"

* * *

He loved watching him. Always careful, showing restraint. This was nothing new. Feeling the waters before diving in. Victor adored that about him. He still couldn't understand how two people being so different still could meet and... live and love. Together, celebrating every second of it.

"Hey, Yuuri! They're cheering but what are the words?"

The Sagan Tosu supporters had started quite some time ago with loud and synchronised cheers, but it was hard, impossible even, for Victor to understand.

Yuuri listened for a bit. "I believe it's 'Olé, olé, olé, Sagan Tosu' and…" He listened some more. "This part is 'Saa, tateyo! Tomo ni ikou! Kyou no shouri wo tsukamouze!' It means something like 'Let's stand! Let's go together! Let's take today's victory!' Inspirational, huh?"

"Aww, don't be like that, Yuuri! Next time it starts over, cheer with me!" He snuck his hand into his. "Okay?"

Yuuri glanced at him, he had a slight blush to his cheeks.

"Okay?" Victor felt that he wanted an answer.

"Fine. I'll cheer with you."

Soon enough, the cheering started anew. Victor fell into it without hesitation. He peered at Yuuri, he was obviously uncomfortable, not joining in.

"Come. No, don't struggle, just come here."

He took Yuuri by the shoulders and placed himself behind him. He leaned in a little, and spoke into his ear. "When the cheering starts, you're cheering too. It's our team after all!"

Again, the cheer started over. Victor took hold of Yuuri's hands, making him clap with the other supporters.

"Don't feel awkward, Yuuri. It's fun!"

 _"Olé, olé olé, Sagan Tosu!"_ The cheer echoed over the field, inviting the supporters to join in.

"Olé, olé, olé, Sagan Tosu!"

 _"Olé, olé olé, Sagan Tosu!"_

"Olé, olé, olé, Sagan Tosu!"

 _He's joining in! Oh, Yuuri… I love you!_

* * *

Victor felt amazed, watching it happen before his eyes. How his wonderful, proper, slightly inhibited soulmate blossomed. Cheering with the crowd, being one with the hive-mind.

"Come on Sagan, we want your goal! Come on Sagan Tosu, goal, goal, goal!"

With just a few minutes left of the game, the teams were tied. When Sagan managed to get a corner down by Osaka's goal, it happened.

"GOAL! Victor! We did it! GOOOAAAL!"

Victor was surprised to have Yuuri around his neck, his legs clamped around his back, screaming at the top of his lungs.

He just couldn't help himself. He held on to him, kept him in place by supporting his butt with his arms. Cherishing every moment of the spontaneous interaction.

Imagine what a little nudge can do to set you off in the right direction, if you only have someone to show you the way. Someone so very different from you.


	11. Bonus: A new religion

**Hi guys!**

 **I am so very thankful for all the hits you keep giving this story :D It's really humbling and I'm over the moon. Here's a bonus chapter for you guys as a big thank you!**

 **If you're not into kinks (and feet), you might want to stay away. Just saying ;) Thanks for the support!**

 **xoxo**

* * *

It had been a straining week, with them not being able to get much more than a glimpse of each other. Victor hated when their schedules overlapped. It meant that they barely saw each other in the morning, one of them always had to go to practise early. If they were lucky, they could manage meeting up for lunch. Often eating while walking, not having the time or luxury to sit down. In the evening, the one last through the door was usually exhausted and went straight to bed.

But that's how it was, being on top. Fighting to stay there. Victor sighed. He never thought about how much time he actually spent outside his home, practising, doing interviews, posing for odd photoshoots. Not until… _he_ moved in.

Living with Yuuri had made him needy. Needy in a lot of different ways, but it all boiled down to always wanting to be there for him. Be near him. He wanted to have his tea ready in the morning, before he woke up. Wanted to watch him skate, continue to guide him as he grew. Wanted to wind down over dinner, making smalltalk and hearing about his day. He wanted to spend every moment with him, and his life was making it difficult.

Since they both had competed in the Grand Prix Final, they had been practising a lot. Just not together. Yuuri had accepted, without a second thought, being coached by Yakov when he grumpily had snapped at Victor one day at the rink. Telling him that his pace would kill them both if he didn't slow down.

The old man spoke the truth, how irritating it was to even admit it. Nationals was coming up. For the both of them, at the same time. Although, they wouldn't be together. Yuuri would fly off to Japan to skate in Sapporo while he was off to Moscow instead. Victor sighed. He knew that he should be thankful. Yuuri was, after all, just taking some pressure away from the life that came with being a Russian Living Legend. But he missed him. Immensely. It wasn't going to be like this forever, though. Just two more weeks until Nationals was done, and that was very comforting thing to remember.

As he heard the keys rattle in the lock, he got to his feet. Almost running for the door. Finally, he was going to see him. Actually spend some time with him. He could only hope he was feeling the same way too.

* * *

He was met by a pair of brown eyes that looked spent. His heart sank a bit. Not what he had expected at all.

"Tough day?" He gave him a peck on the cheek.

Yuuri just nodded in response.

"Hey… everything okay?"

"I… I've just had a very bad day. I'm sorry." He took off his coat and shoes with a sigh. As he reached for his muffler, he suddenly stopped and fell into his arms. "It's… it just… I hurt so much. My whole body aches like crazy and I just… I got yelled at too and…"

He tightened his arms around him. Of course, he was tired. Of course, he was in pain. That's what being mid-season was all about, although he didn't want to tell him that. He already knew. It was something they had to endure and try to work around, if possible. If they wanted to stay on top.

Being tired, being in pain… Those two things combined with that personality of his always made him a bit more fragile than most. How strange it sounded, he wouldn't want to have him any other way. He loved that part of him. And, he knew that he always bounced back. Given the time, given the opportunity to break, he always found that little spark that pushed him onwards. That spark that made him excel in the end.

He untangled the muffler from around his neck and dropped it on the floor. He tilted his head back a little. Maybe there was a way to make him unwind, get that day of his out of his system. "Yuuri? Go take a shower, okay? I'll be right with you."

* * *

He wasn't really in the mood, Victor could tell. Seemingly somewhere else, probably sorting out what he'd been through during the day. It was as if he was zoning out, constantly. When he passed by the bathroom, he still hadn't undressed. He just stood there, with his arms in the sleeves of the sweater, partially undressed.

"I thought you would at least have gotten out of your clothes by now. Honestly, Yuuri…"

"Eh?" He came back, found the here and now. "I'm sorry, I…"

"Here, let me help you."

Standing close to him like that, he realised that he had longed for it. A quiet little moment of solitude, just the two of them. He looked at him, thought about what was going on, there on the inside. He helped his arms get free from the sleeves and got a smile in return.

"That's more like it. I've missed you." He caressed his cheek. The kiss he got in return said… a lot. He licked his lips afterwards, they were wet after Yuuri's tongue, feeling a little pull inside. "Sit." He nodded in the direction of the toilet.

Yuuri looked perplexed. "I can undress myself!" He laughed a little. It looked like their exchange had made him a little more relaxed. A nice diversion.

"I know you can, just sit." He watched him as he took the three steps in the right direction. "Hey, you can keep them on."

"We're not taking a shower?" Yuuri had his fingers tucked underneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

Well, they were. Not just yet. For some reason, Victor wasn't really sure where this would end up but a shower afterwards would probably be more suitable.

"I said 'sit'. Just… do what I tell you, okay?" Why did he suddenly sound so demanding, so bossy? He couldn't really understand where it came from, it just rolled off his tongue.

Their eyes met. It was hard to read those brown eyes at first, but he realised when he was looking at him that they shared a silent agreement. The way the eyes narrowed, the way his lower lip was separated from the upper… Yes, he wanted to see where things were going too. He didn't resist when his hand made him sit down, using a little too much force than was necessary.

"Victor… In the bathroom?"

He huffed, an amused response. He wasn't sure either. Wasn't sure about what was going to happen or if this was the place, but he wanted to put things in motion. Of that, he was certain.

He kneeled, and got a response that made him quicken. As soon as those cheeks gained a little colour, he knew that he would have to convince him in order to continue. Or maybe... just asking him would work. That response, the flushed cheeks, was nothing but divine.

"So…" He took his left foot and put it on his knee. Stuck his hand underneath the fabric of the pant leg and felt his calf a little. "Does it hurt?"

"Um… Yes, a little."

"Where?"

"Wh… what?"

"Where does it hurt, Yuuri?"

"Uh… where your hand is? Everywhere?"

The feeling of his muscles underneath his skin made him heady. They were tense from earlier, from carrying his weight through hours of being on skates, through jumps and spins. He used both his hands to feel his calf, his shin. He had to peer up at him a little. He looked hesitant, but interested.

He folded up the pant leg a little, still feeling his calf. "Stay," he said as he took his foot off his knee. He wanted to return as quickly as possible. Losing that contact made him vibrate inside.

Looking through the bathroom cabinet, he found what he was searching for. He returned to him, resuming the submissive stance from before. There was something about this whole arrangement that made him feel something new. Or, no. He felt excited but he wasn't used to feeling what he did whilst doing this. _This_ was new.

He opened the jar. It was a disgustingly expensive lotion he had found years prior, while visiting a resort close to the shores of the Black Sea. He had used it with restraint, due to the difficulty getting his hands on it online. They just wouldn't sell it in other places than at the actual resort, no matter how he had pleaded. The smell was something else, like it was mud mixed together with something floral, lightly scented and natural.

He dipped his fingers in the jar and wiped them off on the palm of his other hand, letting the dollop settle. He rubbed them together, knowing very well that the lotion would produce a little heat for just a few seconds when activated.

Yuuri made a little sound of surprise as he touched him again.

"It's warm," he whispered.

He hummed in response as he kneaded the lotion into his skin. He got an occasional sigh, it was definitely payment enough.

As he repeated the procedure on Yuuri's right leg, he realised that he wasn't the only one enjoying this new way of intimacy. Yuuri had shifted slightly, become more reclined.

"Feels good?" He had to address this. He understood that he was talking about himself more than actually asking for Yuuri's input. He had started to feel ridiculously turned on.

"Yes." Yuuri's answer was nothing more than an exhale, whispered between his parted lips. He was savouring this too.

He shifted a little. Decided to sit on the bathroom floor instead of kneeling to avoid his legs from getting numb. Seeing Yuuri put his feet on each of his knees made his heart beat violently, made him look up at him.

What happened next was something he would remember for ever, since it played out almost in slow motion. Looking him straight in the eye, putting a foot to his chest, he uttered the word that would make Victor violently catch his breath, every time he heard it with the same intonation.

"More."

* * *

He shuddered. Feeling the ball of his foot press against him, that voice suddenly being commanding… He had to swallow, his throat felt shriveled up. He realised that he'd forgot to breathe.

Almost questioningly, he held on to his ankle as the pressure against his chest had started to soften. He didn't pull back, he relaxed instead. Let the entire weight of his leg fall into his hand. Why was it that it had that effect on him? Making his breathing pick up, making him feel that surge inside? He realised that he loved it. And as much as Yuuri wanted more, he knew for a fact that his need was bigger. Almost insatiable.

He made him flex a little at the knee, to make him lower his foot. He had his heel in the palms of his hands, relishing the weight. Through the sock, he could feel the bony prominences of the mallelouses against the tips of his thumbs. He became occupied with stroking them for a while, trying to get in control. It made it worse. What a strange revelation this was.

He used both of his hands to slide the sock off him. He received the same intoxicating rush as when he had undressed him, countless times before. It was beautiful. Even though it was bruised and chafed, slightly swollen from being laced up in its leathery confinement for hours, it filled him with such reverence. A skater's feet were his most important assets, and seeing his took his breath away. He loved what he was seeing. He wanted more, needed more of this particular part of him.

He kissed his ankle. He couldn't stop the impulse, he needed to feel that part of him against his lips. The electricity that coursed through him as soon as his lips touched his skin, it made him feel like he lost consciousness for a… second? A minute? What if this need, this sensation, could be sustained for a lifetime? Oh, how he would love that.

He had to taste him too, he decided. Let his tongue caress his heel and his ankle. There was no other way, not without it having consequences he couldn't possibly deal with. He opened his mouth, closing his eyes as he got closer. Preparing his tongue for the soft meeting.

"Victor?" Yuuri's voice sounded shy. "I… um, I've had skates on all day so... "

It was like the moment dissipated. Not entirely, though. The sensation it left behind was still nibbling. I could be brought out again. Probably without any effort at all.

He just had to smile at that remark. Always so self conscious. He loved that about him. He also loved the fact that… he wasn't saying no? He kissed the arch of his foot before fetching his towel, drenching it in the shower before he returned.

Meticulously, he wiped his foot. Making sure not to put too much pressure on it as he did, due to its condition. Making sure that he did it thoroughly, to prevent him feeling uncomfortable. Between the toes, around the heel, along the sole. Letting his fingers play against his skin in that manner, that deliberate and focused manner, made that nibble become a bite within him. For some reason, his orthodox upbringing made him remember stories. Stories of feet belonging to saviours being washed. Just like this. Exactly like this.

He removed his other sock. Not with reverence this time. More with a heated desire. He made sure it got the exact same treatment, made sure it got the exact same amount of attention. Made sure it got the exact same amount of love.

"I want to lick them. I… I need to taste them." He felt ridiculous, holding his feet in his hands, not being able to keep his breathing under control. Saying those words in that husky way. The nibble that became a bite became a voracious mauling. He looked at him, with eyes begging him to oblige. With eyes begging him to say yes.

And that, he did.

* * *

"No, please. Not in here. Not like this."

He heard Yuuri's voice, sounding far away. It sounded distorted. Low. Faint. Feeling his toes against his lips, against his cheeks… he had to get in control. But he had a hard time stopping himself. He just wanted more, wanted to lose himself in this new obsession that had been hiding in plain sight, so teasingly.

The little tug made it easier for him to gain some restraint. His grip got loose. He looked at him, frightened that he had changed his mind. That he would suddenly deny him what he so graciously had offered before.

"Victor?"

Of course. Of course he felt uncomfortable sitting on the toilet, watching him getting more and more aroused by the second. Of course he wanted it undone. This was strange to him.

"Let's continue in the bedroom."

It was like being born again, with a new purpose. With a new passion.

With a newly found confidence, with a roaring fire inside, he scooped him up. Almost tripping as he did. The need for him, the need for release was building up. Making him lose himself. He wanted to resume, find that sensation again. Getting lost in the feeling of having access to him in a totally different way.

He heard him catch his breath as he fell on top of him. Luckily, they had made it to the bed. He fought with his sweatpants. They were in the way now, now that he knew what he wanted. Now that he knew what made him tick.

"Lift… Lift yourself up, your hips…"

Seeing him do what he was told, almost made him combust. He was letting him do this, he wanted him to do this. He trusted him. He was giving himself away, without hesitation. Of course, he was eager. Maybe a bit too much, when he clawed the garment off him. The gasp he thought he heard told him this, but there wasn't a possibility to go back to how it had been before. Before this baptism. Before this exalted march.

He wanted to return to his previous centre of attention, but he was held back. He tried a couple of times, but he was restricted by his hand that dug into his shirt. That hand wanted his attention elsewhere, wanted him to meet his mouth. He obliged, spoke into his mouth to flex at the hip, bend his knee. Give him the opportunity to at least feel his new deity.

He tried to sate his need and his own at the same time. Alternating between the warmth of his lips and the cool of his toes. It was beyond anything he'd experienced, those blackouts, those cognitive lightning strikes he felt every time he made contact. He whimpered with every exhale, he couldn't stand the pent up force within. It needed to come out, that passion. That yearning. That… worship!

"Yuuri!" His name was like an incantation. A chant. It could be repeated time and time again, making the force within him claw at him from inside. Wanting to tear him open. Making him ready to meet the maker responsible for this new revelation.

He forgot about the battle with his lips. He wanted something else to play with his tongue, to invade his mouth. He had become greedy, sitting up and holding on to his ankles. One in every hand. Licking, kissing, tasting and biting. Sucking. Having him in his mouth made him feel like drowning, made him swallow the moans that wanted out with every breath.

He was battling that uphill climb with everything he had. He just had to get out of his own shirt somehow, not willing to let go of the idols he held on to. He managed, somehow. Maybe it was divine intervention.

"Touch me. Use them," he panted as he reached down to take himself in his hand. He ached. Throbbed. Wanted that release. As he started pulling himself closer to the end of the climb, he reached for an ankle again. He needed that softness against him. Against his chest. Against his face. The feeling of being touched like that with this new addiction… He wanted mercy, he wanted to shatter.

Anytime now.

The cool of his toes touched his hand, asking him to put them to good use. It was the greatest benefaction. The salvation he so desperately sought. As he enveloped himself with the soles of his feet, purposefully moving them back and forth, feeling that coolness turning into something warm instead, he let go within seconds. Let himself feel the tension, right before the drop. Experiencing the most amazing little death with a cry that he hoped was his lover's name.

 _Hallelujah._

* * *

It was a high he had difficulties coming down from. Every sensation was elevated, bringing him pulsating rushes through every fibre of his convulsing body.

"I… lo...ve... you. I… lo...ve... you. I… lo...ve... you." He tried to speak on both the inhales and the exhales. He wanted him to know, he desperately needed him to know. There was a whole lot more he wanted to say to him, so much more he wanted to show him.

But for now, he felt content with getting lulled to sleep by the hands sifting through his hair, responding to his every inhale and exhale with the same words.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."


	12. Bonus: C'est l'extase langoureuse

**Oh, you keep making my happy! Thank you so much for all the hits and faves, I'm so humbled.**

 **Here's another treat for you. I see it as Yuuri's main kink, that of seeing Victor in motion.**

 **This story is based on the lyrics to Debussy's** **C'est l'extase langoureuse. Do yourselves a favor and listen to it. It's divine.**

 **Again, thank you so much for your support. xoxo**

* * *

 **C'est l'extase langoureuse** [ **It is the languorous ecstasy]**

C'est l'extase langoureuse, [It is the languorous ecstasy]

C'est la fatigue amoureuse, [It is the fatigue of love]

C'est tous les frissons des bois [It is all the rustling of the woods]

Parmi l'étreinte des brises, [In the embrace of the breezes]

C'est vers les ramures grises [It is near the gray branches]

Le choeur des petites voix. [A chorus of tiny voices.]

O le frêle et frais murmure! [Oh the frail and fresh murmur!]

Cela gazouille et susurre, [It babbles and whispers]

Cela ressemble au cri doux [It resembles the sweet sound]

Que l'herbe agitée expire... [That the waving grass exhales…]

Tu dirais, [You could say it were,]

sous l'eau qui vire, [under the bending stream,]

Le roulis sourd des cailloux. [the muffled sound of rolling pebbles.]

Cette âme qui se lamente [This soul, which laments,]

En cette plainte dormante [And this dormant moan,]

C'est la nôtre, n'est-ce pas ? [It is ours, is it not?]

La mienne, dis, et la tienne, [It is mine, say, and yours,]

Dont s'exhale l'humble antienne [Of which we exhale this humble anthem]

Par ce tiède soir, tout bas? [On this mild evening, so very quietly?]

* * *

It felt peculiar, being the observer. It was as if he stepped into his old role, the one from before. When he was always watching, yearning, wanting. Always from afar. Being that person, it belonged to another life, another lifetime.

He was with him now. He had unlimited access to him. Everything about him, every small and seemingly insignificant detail, was his and his alone. But today, he had to share him. Share him with the world. It had been some time since that happened last.

Seeing him undress, taking off the oh so familiar red and white to put on something else, made him anticipative. He could feel the small cues already. The increased thumps in his chest, the dryness in his mouth, the need to not miss a single second of what was playing out before him. Strange how he made him feel like this. No, he had always made him feel like this. What was strange was how he _still_ made him feel exactly like this.

That's how it was with him. How he, in this specific context, still made him want more. All and everything he could possibly give.

He glanced at him, every now and then. Smiled a little. It seemed like he was very well aware of his eyes on him. Like he lingered, with his every move. It wasn't appropriate of him to try to stop time. To make it just about them. They weren't alone and he never wanted to share him, not in any way, even though he had to. At least for now.

Being passive made it worse. The anticipation grew. When he asked him to join him, to help him, he was quick to get to his feet.

"Can you button it for me?"

What a question.

The shirt was in his hands. What connotations would it cement, after what was to come? He couldn't help thinking about that, getting lost in a flurry of feelings more than thoughts. He felt like the question was rousing, making something stir inside.

He took it from him. Reveled in the illustrious painting that was his back, as he turned around. Seeing those shoulders flex, seeing the muscles play underneath the skin as he put his arms through the sleeves. The black fabric seemed like a second skin as it covered him, smoothing out the contours of every single inch he had ever held on to. Everything he had ever claimed. The red mesh gave everything away, making him long for the territory it so tantalisingly put on display. He wanted to hold on some more, hold on to what he had used as handles in every exposed and heated embrace.

He turned around, with calm and blue eyes instantly sticking to his. Asking him to veil what he had to offer.

He felt his steady exhales with every breath he made, swirling out from his parted lips and caressing his face. He started to do what he was asked, commencing from the bottom and slowly working his way up. A stray finger touched his stomach, his chest and collarbone as he fought with the buttons. It was unintentional, but at the same time, he was occupied with some strange resolve.

Seeing how the mesh clinged to him, giving him front row access as he watched his stomach heave and drop with an uncanny regularity, made him enraptured. The final button felt like a blessing and a burden at the same time. As he tried to make it go through the delicate slit in the fabric, his hands suddenly were on top of his own. Warm and calm. Not at all like his.

"I'll do it."

He was smiling as he took control. Took away what he longed for and wanted undone at the same time.

"How do I look?"

Preternatural. It was the only thing he could think of. He couldn't say anything, but it seemed like he had conveyed his awe. The beaming smile he received in return said as much.

"Skates, please."

He'd seen him lace them numerous of times, always in the exact same way. He pulled the laces tight at first, let them go slightly loose just below the ankle before tightening them again. He was a creature of habit, but only then.

He looked at him from below, from where he was sitting. Those pools of never ending blue shone with something he couldn't put into words. When he stood up, his hand trailed his thigh, just briefly, before it found its usual resting place at the small of his back.

"I'm off to warm up. I'll see you."

"I'll be watching."

He was rewarded with a trailing thumb on his lower lip and a smile he only used for him.

"I know you will. I look forward to it."

* * *

"Is this it?"

"Mhm. What do you think?"

"It sounds… longing, I think."

He chuckled, tightened his grip around him from behind.

"Did I say something funny?"

"It's not longing, Yuuri. It's lust."

He had to turn around, see if he was mocking him or not. Being against his chest, between his legs with nothing compromising their contact.

His eyes were sincere. He meant every word, it seemed.

"Lust?"

"Yes. You don't know French, but it's passion in this piece. Unbridled passion. Here, listen."

He skipped a bit, knowing very well what passage he was looking for.

"Here, Yuuri." He sung along, low and fluent. " _En cette plainte dormante. C'est la nôtre, n'est-ce pas? La mienne, dis, et la tienne. Dont s'exhale l'humble antienne._ "

He didn't need a translation. The way he looked into his eyes as the last two sentences purred deep within his throat made him understand that he was speaking the truth. About passion. He suddenly felt a disabling pulse. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel flattered, loved or embarrassed. The latter feeling took over.

He felt that heat, that same heat that never seemed to let him be in moments like this. He put his head against his chest, hoping that he'd been preemptive enough. Why was it always like that, why would his cheeks always burn as soon as he expressed his love for him with words and with his body?

"Aw, I'm sorry."

One hand found its way into his hair, to console. To take the edge away. Or, maybe to push him further down the path he was already treading?

"Still," he continued, "it tells an amazing story. The story of us. I want every short program this season to be about us."

"You're embarrassing me." He spoke softly against his chest. "What… does it mean? The lyrics?"

He laughed. It was a warm laugh, one that came straight from the heart.

"You want to know? I don't think you can handle it, love."

"I… I must know! If you're explicitly making me a part of your program, I need to know."

"You're always a part of me when I skate. This isn't new."

"Victor!"

"Fine! Fine," he laughed. Suddenly, becoming serious. Coercing him to look at him with a couple of fingers on his chin. "It's about the feeling afterwards. The feeling after you've come, after you've made love. What it sounds like. What it feels like."

He flinched. This was his idea of a short program? Putting him, no, them on display like that? He wanted to say no. He wanted to avert his eyes. He wanted him to change his mind, understand how it made him feel to hear something like that.

"Let me celebrate being with you."

The kiss that followed convinced him. He wanted to say yes. Wanted to lock eyes with him. Wanted him to see it through. Wanted to be a part of the languorous ecstasy, together with him.

* * *

He was standing alone, in the off-ice warm up area. Eyes glued to the monitor on the wall. Ever since he walked off to warm up on the ice, he'd been off limits. It suddenly made him feel like how it was before, being the observer from afar. How he had been dying to get a glimpse of him, breathe the same air as him, stand on the same ice as him.

It made him feel needy. Like he was thrown back in time, like he instantly connected with the one he used to be. As soon as the camera by the rink got him in its sight, he felt the need to hold on. Seeing him made his knees buckle, his stomach clench, his throat shrivel up. Just like before. But seeing him made him also feel concupiscent. That was new.

It almost became a game, spotting him on that screen. Slowly realising what it made him feel, realising what was happening inside him, every time he passed by in his black and red outfit. With that confident smile. Those narrowed and focused eyes. The other skaters that accidentally got caught in the same frame as him were nothing. Invisible. Obsolete. It was only him in his sight. And oh, how he wanted him.

The warm up was coming to a close. All but one of the skaters started to head for the exit. He was skating as number four. Now, all he could do was to wait. Wait for him to appear again, to take his breath away. To make him weak. Like so many times before.

* * *

The announcer's voice echoed in the speakers. "We welcome to the ice, representing Russia, Victor Nikiforov!"

And with those words, his world stopped. Seeing him, arms open, welcoming the cheers and the applauds, made him inhale sharply. He was made to do this. To entice not only the audience, but also… him. _I will never share you._

He made a captivating contrast, standing there on the ice. Waiting for the music to start, with his head bent down and a delicate fingers touching his cheek and lips. His fringe fell slightly into his eyes. He wanted to pull it back, even from where he was watching him on a screen, and realising that made him feel silly.

It felt like he was vibrating, waiting for the beckoning sound of the piano to start. He hadn't seen him prepare even once. He wasn't sure what he was going to witness. Or experience. And then, it began.

He came out of the starting position immediately. A few crossovers, then back into a cantilever. Using the centripetal force to turn. His face had the same expression as when… Yes, when he was a part of the fatigue they shared, more often than not.

This was something else, it made him feel something else. This wasn't eros, it was beyond. His jump combination was exquisite and melted into a slow step sequence, a wonderful change of pace. He remembered those moves, those hands. How he had been next to him, almost into him, in a flurry just like that not too long ago. And now, he was repeating their closeness. For everyone to see.

He felt that surge. The one he'd been trying not to remember, ever since he knew couldn't resist him. Awkward memories flashed by him, how he had watched his routines late at night, making himself feel a little more. Trying desperately to find comfort in his movements, wishing with a fervor that he could be close. That he could do that to him. Yes, the ecstasy. The drawn out circumstance that followed, and the knot that got tighter and tighter with every emotional rendezvous.

A sit spin. The movement of his elongated arm, billowing like waving grass. The touch of his face as it slowed down, when he stood up, how it lingered. How the fingers caught his lips. It wasn't intentional, there was no possibility that it was, but the camera panned. And he found it immediately. It was only a fraction of a second, but their eyes found each other, reminding him of how he looks at him with veneration. Afterwards, when it all becomes still.

He shifted. He had to. Had to cross his legs. Try to breathe. Try not to let the obvious display of their intimacy get to him. He knew he was failing, he felt as much. How the tension was building inside, making him quake. Making him long for something that only he could give him.

"Hey, Yuuri."

 _Not now. Please, not now._

"Debussy, huh? I wish I could have thought of that, not only the ice would be wet, let me tell you."

"Chris… I…" It was in his voice now. That greed, that ache. That consuming desire.

"Hm? Oh, I see. Is he like that in bed? Damn, I'm jealous."

He couldn't turn around. He had to remain where he stood, with legs crossed and a hand covering his mouth. The rhythmic throbbing made him close his eyes. He was burning up. Seconds away from erupting. Having a bystander wouldn't change this. Couldn't change this.

A pat on the hip, a little too low for it to be a touch of camaraderie.

"Guess someone will be coming first tonight, huh?" He felt his breath against his ear. "I seriously doubt it'll be him."

They stood together for something that felt like an excruciating eternity.

"Oh, this _is_ good. _Le choeur des petites voix. O le frêle et frais murmure!_ A bit underwhelming though, no?"

Disappearing steps, a chuckle.

"Enjoy yourself! I'll be thinking of you!"

Strangely, the conversation would have made him come down. It would have made him lose the craving. But nothing happened. It stayed with him. Kept on pulling him in, making him lose every bit of composure he still had. Every remaining bit of inhibition.

The flip. The quadruple flip, delivered to him in the same way the lyrics were. The lyrics he had sung with an undeniable purpose. With a feverish need and want.

 _En cette plainte dormante. C'est la nôtre, n'est-ce pas? La mienne, dis, et la tienne. Dont s'exhale l'humble antienne._

It was flawless. Just like him.

* * *

The Kiss and Cry. He was breathing hard after his effort, being all glistening skin, abdominal muscles playing underneath that red mesh. Such sweet torture.

He was teasing him. Being approachable, inviting the world to share what they had. Blowing kisses at the camera. Pulling his hair back from his face. Why did he have to be such an exhibitionist?

It dawned on him that he _loved_ it. He loved him leading everybody on, but in the end, after all the cheers became quiet and the magic had disappeared… he was going home with him. That empowered him, made him feel invincible. He was indeed taking him away from the world. He was his. His dominion. To do with as he saw fit.

115.6. A new record. That face lit up, more happy than proud. More thankful than confident. He couldn't stand it anymore. He had to get to him. To claim what was rightfully his.

He stood just around the corner. Like a predator waiting to pounce on its prey. He didn't recognise himself at all. This wasn't him although… it was. He had never felt more like himself than in that very moment. It was a side of him he never had gotten the chance to explore and now, it was there. Written on his skin, like he was an open book.

He came around that corner, eventually. Stepped right into the ambush. He was quick to grab his arm, pull him close. The feeling of having him, and that radiating heat, flush against himself was the end of him. The rebirth of the other him.

He needed him to intrude. He wanted to be devoured by him, stood ready to accept him with an open mouth. And he obliged. How far could that tongue of his reach, how much of him could he take in?

"We're not alone." His voice was attacking his senses, pulling him back for a fraction of a second. "You're sure you want to do this?"

He couldn't answer him, not with words, so he decided to show him. Show him how much he wanted _this_ , whatever _this_ was. Whatever _this_ would become. Whilst backing away, both hands holding on to one of his. Seeking desperately to find their haven, their sanctuary.

As soon as the door closed behind them, not spending as much as a second to determine if the show from before would continue with an audience, they were nothing but moans and hands that couldn't make it right. Fumbling with zippers and buttons and fabric. Not finding it funny at all.

"You need to be quiet in here, okay?" His voice was ragged, spoken directly into his ear. "Promise me you'll be quiet."

He tried to uphold his end of the bargain, but his hands against his hips, tearing at his clothes, made it hard. He whimpered slightly. He tried to get his legs over his shoulders but they were restricted.

"I hate what you're wearing."

One shoe was removed, one leg got pulled out of its confinement consisting of two layers of fabric. Now, he was free. Barely breathing, waiting to be captured.

Every exhale became a sound, as if he was trying his register. He loved that feeling, as if every sound heightened his experience. The little tension before letting out the soft vowels, begging for more, brought him closer.

It sounded like he was feeding, and in a way, he was. Feeding upon something he could never get enough of. He couldn't look at him, not without the risk of being consumed in a totally different way.

At one point, he did. Saw the silver hair and lashes that shadowed the two universes of blue. Saw how he disappeared into him. He cried out, making him stop.

"Quiet. You have to."

He tried to cover his mouth, tried to meet him halfway. It felt wrong. Almost as constricting as his clothes. As he felt the cool from his ring finger on his lips, he took it in his mouth. Feeling the metal between his teeth, against his restless tongue. He bit down hard as his reality faded, as his soul began to lament over the death he was experiencing.

And then, it became still.


	13. Bonus: A lust - Unspoken

**Come on, guys! You need to stop reading New Beginnings soon, I can't keep up XD**

 **Here's a little bonus for you, a little racy piece about (not) communicating what you want. As always, thank you for reading and commenting! xoxo**

* * *

A hand, then an arm, draping themselves around him from behind. It wasn't intentional, and so, it took a while for him to wake. Still weak, still dizzy from fever and an aching body, he came back, ever so slightly. To the feeling of him being close, his draped arm being closer.

He listened to the nothingness, backed by the irregular taps on the window from the rain outside. He had a hard time deciding if he was the only one who was actually there in the moment, lucid and aware. He tried to listen, but the breaths were too silent. His stomach expanding against the small of his back. Making gentle intrusions in a continual way, again and again.

He was feeling chilling rushes, like ripples against his scorching skin. Making him shudder, making hairs stand on end. As soon as he'd shivered, the chills became replaced. Turning into a dry heat that made him feel like he needed to get away, kick off his duvet and wait for the next assault of icy shivers to pinch him. Make him seek the haven underneath the duvet once more.

He decided to get up, take something for the ache and the fluctuating temperatures his body tried its best to manage on its own accord. He slid out of bed, trying to be gentle. Catching the arm that pooled off him, placing it slowly against the mattress. He was asleep, he figured, as he stood up and headed for the kitchen.

The air felt cool against his hot, naked skin as he walked the few steps over to the sink. Hearing nothing but the mellow sound his bare feet made against the floor. In order to keep the stillness, he turned on the faucet, just enough to create a thin but steady stream. The water needed to run for a minute or so to get cool, making a metallic hissing sound as it ran down the sink. Much like the rain against the windowsill. He opened a cupboard and took down the small box, marked with the telltale red cross. It was neatly organised, all thanks to him. The one sleeping in his bed.

It was something else, getting relief from the inside. He felt an immense satisfaction as the coolness of the water brought the pill down his throat, to where it would disintegrate and ultimately start doing good. He ran a hand against his chest as he put the glass away. He frowned at the clammy stickiness. It made him feel unattractive, self-conscious in a way. It was counterproductive, he was very aware of that, but decided against returning to bed without taking a shower.

He made sure to close the door, trying to be as silent as he possibly could. The water was a blessing, alleviating some of the debilitating flashes of heat with every drop that collided with him and his skin. He wanted to sustain that feeling, not drying himself off as he was done. Hoping that the evaporation would continue to soothe, for a little while longer. He left the bathroom, making tracks that in the end wouldn't matter.

He had turned around, he noticed. Seemingly found his side of the bed. Not wearing his sleepwear anymore, which was understandable. He would have combusted sleeping next to him, especially being that close like he was before.

He cringed a little as he got back in bed, feeling the wet sheets. It was indeed counterproductive, that shower he had. But at the same time, it provided a artificial feeling of being a little bit more than what he was at the moment.

He rolled around on his side, starting to feel a slight chill again. The cue to cover up, just a little. He arranged the duvet so he had his torso free, still not trusting his body to keep an even temperature. That arrangement felt okay. For quite some time, he never felt the need to cover up more or expose himself.

As that prolonged feeling of normality started to make him comfortable, he could feel a sought after relaxation. Like he was getting heavier, closer to crossing the border of being awake and falling asleep. And then, he felt the smallest touch against his back. Again, the feeling of a hand preceding an arm until it was around him.

He sighed. One of contentment. For some reason, the heat he now felt against him was more rewarding than the cool he'd been chasing before. He angled the arm, made it rest against him higher up. Holding the hand in his, pressing it against his chest. Pulling the body behind him close. The feeling of an increased fatigue suddenly took over, as he got lulled into breathing in the same, slow rhythm. Every breath making it harder to be aware of his surroundings. Still, the only thing that could actively be heard was the rain, rapping on the window.

He wasn't awake when the hand moved. Slowly wriggled itself out of his eased up grip. He awoke, just barely, as the hand found a new resting place. It felt good having it on his hip, and it didn't take long before he felt the familiar pull. The one you feel when you cross the border to the reality that could differ so much from the one you're used to. The one that had been speaking to him for a while, beckoning him to give in.

When the hand travelled again, he didn't notice. He was finding his way in that other reality, having ventured far down the path so that a hand on his shoulder wouldn't matter. Wouldn't be able to bring him back.

But he came running back, eventually. When exhales teased the back of his neck and a leg got put on top of his own, he felt as if he got called back, asked to hurry. With something between a groan and a sigh, he announced that he was with him. That he'd brought him back, if only just briefly.

It became still behind him. No exhales against the nape of his neck, although the leg remained where it was. He'd started to think that he'd been dreaming when he sensed the slightest of shifts. A hand had found its way into his hair, and as it did, it stayed immobile. Like its owner felt bad for bringing him back, but had to seek that refuge. He could hear him inhale, having him close to his ear. Probably smelling his damp hair. He let him and his hand be as he felt his eyelids getting heavier, hoping it was the last time he would be interrupted. No matter how endearing it was.

He never made it back to the place he sought, the hand in his hair let go and the leg disappeared from hugging his. Instead, that hand ended up on his thigh, barely touching him although he felt the warmth that radiated from the palm. He could feel warm exhales between his shoulder blades, one of his cheeks being flush against the skin of his back. Warming him up, with every little move. He could definitely fall asleep like this. If only he'd let him.

Feathery touches against his back followed, not made by fingers. They didn't convince him, the hand did. The one that trailed along his thigh, and over his hip to finally stop against his stomach. He blinked, suddenly wide awake. It was always like this, with everything he did. Soft. Tentative. Like he was begging for forgiveness, asking to be excused. Although he had something else entirely in his mind.

He turned around, ended up on his back. Seeking the eyes of the talker and not the doer. He didn't care that the hand had shifted as he'd turned, it suddenly being close to what it probably was seeking.

"Yuuri," he said. His voice was low, a warm whisper that was loud enough for the two of them. "What do you want?"

Yuuri was a doer tonight too, it seemed. He rarely broke that character, and enforced who he was by sitting up and leaning in, delivering a kiss as both of his hands softly touched both sides of his neck. Black strands tickled his face as he kept his eyes open, trying to see him better in the darkness.

When the kiss grew weaker and eventually disappeared, dark eyes met his. Fingers were still against the sides of his neck, every exhale became a tickling caress against his face. He loved what he saw, him licking his lips after he had made that excruciating distance between them. It was probably an unconscious thing, he realised. He usually had little to no idea what his actions brought out. What reactions they evoked in situations like this, how it made him feel. It sparked something within him, like many times before. It made him more in tune with his intentions, his mindset. His need. But he wanted to hear him say it, just this once.

"Yuuri?" He raised his head, just enough to feel his lips against his own when he spoke. "You woke me up, play nice. What do you want?" He had a hard time keeping an indifferent face, pretending to be totally oblivious to the inner workings of his fiancée.

He felt the fingers disappear from his neck, the eyes travelled elsewhere. It was too dark in the bedroom they considered to be theirs, but he could imagine that his cheeks were hot and flushed. Not due to embarrassment, this time.

Now, he wanted to touch him too. See if the talker in him could be brought out. The talker did things to him that the doer couldn't even dream of understanding. Brought them closer in a way beyond compare, if only with the help of a sigh. He was hoping for that sigh, hoping that something that small and seemingly unimportant could be nurtured. Strengthened. Evolved into something more vocal.

So, he touched him. Let his fingers dig into the skin of his thigh. Heaving himself up to be vis-a-vis. He could hear him inhale with a hiss, his weight channelled through the palm of his hand against his thigh must have hurt. When he was upright, he removed the hand and whispered an apology into his ear. Wanting something oral in return.

But he was steadfast, still the restrictive doer. Again, the apologies. The small careful measures. Not daring to invade, not daring to push. A polite question in every little thing he did, like the finger trailing the back of his hand. Like the leg that brushed up against him where they sat. Like the small huff of air against his shoulder. Still, not that sigh. But he was getting there. Taking him with him on that journey, no, on that quest.

"Yuuri," he purred against his jaw. Leaving it at that, trying to foretell his next move. And the one after that, and the one after that. Trying with the utmost respect to persuade him to back himself in a corner, where he would make the call. The check mate.

He was anticipating him, though. Holding his own, seemingly deciding on shrugging off the persona when he was alone. When they were done. For now, he was continuing to dance at the masquerade. Being the gentle lead.

The doer grew slightly more bold, had found his resolve. More touches, not so apologetic anymore, but still with control. Not wanting to act forward, with an urge to stay pious for a little while. Strange how sweltering it felt, feeling his cool hands against his feverish skin. Making him shudder underneath his touch. An impossibility in its own right but still so indisputably true.

Two, maybe three fingers ran along the curve of the back of his arm only to find his shoulder, deliciously lingering there before they balanced on his collarbone like a tightrope. The other hand barely touching his side, tracing the contours of the the cage that kept everything attributed to life and love locked in, securely in place.

He was close, really close. So close that the energy Yuuri brought with him was palpable as he invaded, no, invited himself into his personal space.

"Love…" He tasted his shoulder, using more tongue than lips. Feeling jubilant as the sound of a small, sharp inhale stayed in the room. "What do you want?" He shifted, sat upright instead of being propped up on his arms. Now that his hands were free, he gave him the same frustration. The same debilitating rush, as he put some force behind the fingers clawing his back. Letting them ease up, become nothing more than a ghost of a touch as they reached the small of his back.

His head tilted back, black strands disappearing from his forehead. The sound was almost what he'd been waiting for, but it was a gasp more than anything else. Not that suspire he wanted to hear. But it was a definite reward, seeing those lips part, hearing the air pass his lips and everything it would entail.

He grabbed the leg closest to him by the bend of the knee, the other hand found his hip and he just put him there. On his lap, having his dark eyes looking down on him, his arms resting on top of his shoulders. He was rigid against him, against his stomach. He felt the telltale throb of him, acting on its own accord. The result of his body telling him that he wanted more. For it to continue. To get release. He had a hard time staying calm when he realised how flattering it was.

His breathing instantly picked up as he ended on top of him. He could hear him struggle, with every shivering breath, every try to wet his mouth by swallowing excessively. He was getting closer to where the mask would come off. Where who he wanted to see would get revealed.

He felt himself starting to get affected by everything unspoken. He could do a lot more, to him and with him, but he wanted that voice to speak the truth behind the actions. The need behind the excusing hands and the yearning behind the hot exhales.

Yuuri had a pulse now, he could almost hear it as he started to look for places to rest his hands. They visited his shoulders, his back, his upper arms, his chest. They weren't satisfied, constantly looking for somewhere to regroup. When they found his hair, with his elbows recuperating on his shoulders, they became at ease. His heartbeats didn't share that sentiment.

He put one hand flat against Yuuri's back, his response to him bracing himself by holding on to his hair. He forced his hand to break the barrier, feeling fabric on top and perfect, rounded muscles underneath his palm.

"Tell me. Tell me love," he said as his hand explored the already charted territory. How he loved that feel of him, the familiarity. With the hand still stroking, still cupping, still grabbing, he decided to make it more difficult. Knowing that the end of the game was approaching now that he sat with his legs that far apart.

He adjusted him, made him feel his own excitement with a small push and an almost invisible pull. And then, the sound. The sigh against his shoulder, followed by a little noise as he bowed down. His forehead needed somewhere to rest.

"I…" His voice sounded full. Full of expectations, full of heat, full of greed.

He pushed him away from his shoulder, breathed against his chest as he became upright. Let his tongue prime what his lips later decided to taste, gently nibbling until he got a mewl.

"I… ngh…" Oh, it was happening. The executor and the communicator were debating. Fervently. There was no doubt about which of them who would step down. The masquerade was to be over, and he freely gave up the lead.

Now, he was the one who was scorching. His mouth found his ear, being nothing but rugged breaths accompanied by soft whimpers. Almost inaudible, like he didn't want either of them to hear what was about to get past his lips, he lost the game.

"I'm… I'm horny. Please, Victor, I can'tㅡ"

He silenced him. Brutally. With the effect of having him panting into his mouth as he tried to keep up. He tried to meet him, his hunger and his tongue as his hands, entwined in the black hair, pulled him closer.

Finally, his inward rapture. Finally expressed.


	14. Bonus: Bedtime stories

**Let's rejoice that Yuri on Ice is being continued with a teathrical movie! I hope that Yuuri and Victor get never ending moments with each other. The book being read is _Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage_ , by Haruki Murakami.**

 **As always, thanks for the support. xoxo**

* * *

Yuuri's always been a night owl. Staying up late, being the only one awake, has always been important to him. It has helped him through a lot, helped him with sorting out things he couldn't get the peace of mind doing around others. His thoughts, his feelings. His hopes and dreams. But also, it has helped him realise his fears, just by getting the time to properly confront them.

Because fears, they were something he had a lot of. The fear of not being good enough, being the one who constantly disappoints. The fear of being himself, letting people in, making them see who he really was… that was something he'd been spending many evenings alone trying to wrap his mind around.

As he takes a break from his book, just to finish the train of thought, he remembers being up late, watching skate routines. When the thoughts and feelings got too wrapped up in his fears, he naturally couldn't sleep. Watching others skate helped him scatter some of his anxiety, some of his worries. Seeking comfort in the expressions, the movement and the passion behind it all. Often, although not always, ending up watching _him_.

He smiles as he remembers this. Not that the behaviour is gone, he doubts it ever will, but the need to do it is… gone. He's reached some kind of peace of mind, he realises. He looks to his left, seeing Victor sleeping on his side. Being slightly curled up with Makkachin sleeping behind him, bundled up in the space his bended legs creates. His breaths are slow. Heavy. At ease.

 _It's all thanks to you._ Even though the thought is fleeting, he acknowledges it. Tries to rein it in a bit because he feels as if he's not entirely done with it. He still feels awestruck watching him, but that is the main thing that has created this change in him. How he chose him, and how he in return let him in. Showing him who he really was. Being loved by him has done wonders for that restlessness, for that anxious part of him that always seems to seek him out in the night.

His eyes wander a bit. From the light hair to the silver coloured lashes. To the relaxed lips. To the small visible part of his chest. His eyes finally rest, lingers upon his right hand where two rings are placed. Yes, he really doesn't feel worried. Even though he's awake, late at night.

"Mmh…"

"I'm sorry, Victor. Did I wake you?" His voice is low, to make sure that it can be missed out on if he still is sleeping.

"No… or yes. It's okay."

"I'll finish up, let me just read this paragraph."

Victor's eyes slowly open, finding his in a fraction of a second. "You don't have to. Take your time," he says sleepily.

"I'll be done in two minutes, I swear."

"Read to me."

"What?" He laughs at Victor's words, his sleepy expression. "Read to you?"

"Mhm. You know, Yuuri," he says before a yawn drowns out the words, "before you came here to live with me, my life was so silent. I was really alone. Hearing you, it relaxes me."

"But Vitya, the book is in Japanese," he begins. Only to get interrupted.

"I like hearing your voice. It makes this place feel more like a home. It makes this place feel alive."

Their eyes meet, filled with the realisation that they both find comfort in each other, but in ways totally different. And it's an amazing thing to share.

"Okay, I'll read to you. Close your eyes." He begins to read aloud, in his mother tongue.

" _Every person has their own color. Did you know that?" he said._

" _No, I didn't."_

" _Each individual has their own unique color, which shines faintly around the contours of their body. Like a halo. Or a backlight. I'm able to see those colors clearly."_

 _Midorikawa poured himself another cup of sake and sipped it, leisurely savoring the taste._

" _Is this ability to detect colors something you were born with?" Haida asked, dubiously._

 _Midorikawa shook his head. "No, it's not innate; it's a temporary ability. You get it in exchange for accepting imminent death. And it's passed along from one person to the next. Right now, I'm the one who's been entrusted with it."_

Almost as quickly as he woke, Victor falls asleep. Finding that slow, reassuring rhythm that is nothing but empowering. Calming. Victor has a colour, Yuuri figures, one that no one else knows about.

Yuuri slowly closes his book and leans over to put it on top of his nightstand, before he takes off his glasses. He reaches to his side in the same fashion and puts them next to the book. He rarely makes any claims when he's sleeping but he somehow can't help himself. It feels extra motivated with a kiss tonight. He lets his lips flutter against Victor's in the softest of touches before he straightens up and reaches for the light switch.

As soon as the darkness claims the room, he whispers softly, just enough for the both of them to hear. "Good night, Victor."


	15. Bonus: Amatou

**This is a strange piece of fanfiction, I beg for your forgivness in advance. It's kinky (all about food, so be warned if that's not your thing) and too long for what should be considered sane, but there you go. I think it goes well together with _A new religion_ and _C'est l'extase langoureuse_ , that's why it's posted here and not as a stand-alone. Bless you if you make it to the end.**

 **The title of this story means "sweet tooth" in Japanese. You'll find it quite fitting, I'm sure. Also, the festival being mentioned does exist.**

 **New beginnings dinged 18K views, so I just knew that I had to treat you guys. As always, thanks for the support, reviews and favorite-clicks. xoxo**

* * *

When they wake up that morning, it seems like any other. Not that it is bad, no morning spent together ever is, but as they meet each other with smiles, eyes that can't let go and hands that find the other's face... it's automatic. Not surprising. Comfortable beyond compare. Because that's what they are with each other now, after living together. After loving together. They are comfortable but also highly receptive. Being in-tune, almost conditioned on the other and his almost invisible cues.

There are a lot of things they don't know about that morning, things they haven't really thought about before. But great discoveries are like that, great ideas too. It just takes a little divergence, a stroll off the beaten path if you will, for them to get noticed, to be thought about, to rouse some kind of interest. Especially if a morning seems like any other.

The saying goes " _You can have brilliant ideas, but if you can't get them across, your ideas won't get you anywhere."_ For them, it starts innocently with breakfast in bed. Like so many mornings before.

* * *

"You stay, I'll go," Victor says whilst looking down at Yuuri from above as he rests in between his outstretched arms. _He looks amazing._ And he is, being nothing but tousled black hair, warm hands on his shoulders and lips trying to reach something, anything.

"But I do think it's my turn?" He finally manages to reach a place slightly below the elbow, delivering a wet kiss and a little bite that first leaves a coolness, then a brief heat, lingering on his skin.

"Ow, really... I wasn't aware we kept a score." He bends his elbows as he leans in to kiss him. It becomes a little longer, a little hotter than he intended. Especially since a leg wraps itself around his back, pulling him in, convincing him to add both pressure and passion. "Oh, Yuuri," he sighs in a voice pretending to be disappointed as he breaks away, "hold that thought. Yoghurt?"

"Sounds great. Thank you."

He feels the leg ease up around him and he moves away, trailing his tongue quickly against the patch of skin visible underneath the t-shirt that has travelled a little upwards. He enjoys the reaction, the little gasp of surprise before Yuuri laughs and covers himself properly with a little tug at the hem.

"Victor?" His voice reaches him as he passes through the doorway to the bedroom, on his way to turn right to reach the kitchen.

He can guess what he wants to say, but he humors him. "Yes, Yuuri?"

"Shouldn't you wear something if you're making breakfast?"

It was exactly the question he had expected. "No, love," he says with a laugh. "In this case, clothes doesn't make the man. Or breakfast for that matter."

 **xoxo**

He stretches out with a yawn that ends in a little yelp. After feeling his muscles relax, he reaches over to the nightstand to get his glasses. He wants the day to be a nice one, since it's not common for them to have a day off at the same time. More often than not, at least one of them is engaged in something that has to do with skating. He makes a mental note to see if Victor wants to do anything, secretly praying that he wants to stay in and do nothing together with him.

He hears Victor's bare feet sounding against the floor, even before he becomes visible. When he appears, Yuuri can't help but laugh. He is naked, but covered by the tray he's carrying.

"And I thought I was clever," Victor winks as he puts the tray on the bed before sliding under the duvet.

"Oh, you are. So, so, so clever. But you're still naked."

Victor scoffs and hands him a bowl of yoghurt, which he accepts with open hands. Eager to eat.

He tries to get as many blueberries he can on his spoon together with the yoghurt, watching as Victor reaches for his bowl.

"Taste good?"

"I don't know yet," he replies, still battling the blueberries and their sneaky getaway plan.

They fill up their spoons simultaneously, and prepares to take their first mouthful. As Makkachin jumps on the bed, Yuuri's spoon pokes him in the cheek instead and Victor curses as his yoghurt ends up on the sheets. Or some of it, at least.

His heart almost stops. Seeing the white liquid find its way from Victor's chest down to his stomach makes him blush. He realises he's got associations that he feels slightly embarrassed about, but at the same time… _It looks amazing._

He doesn't know what comes over him, but he gets on his hands and knees and leans in. As he feels the shared sensation on his tongue, the coolness of the yoghurt and the warmth of his skin, he feels a clench in his stomach. A twitch between his legs. This is something else. Something new. Something surprising.

He understands that Victor feels the same way. The sharp inhale when he feels himself being caressed by a tongue, lapping up what can only be considered as wayward but still so fitting, is blatant proof.

As he sits upright, licking his lips to free himself from the yoghurt, he gets licked in return.

"You… had something there," Victor says breathily as his thumb follows the same trajectory as the tongue before it, caressing the corner of his mouth.

"Wha…" He realises he can't breathe. His heart is responding to every detail his senses have picked up. He realises that all of them are engaged now, making him feel overwhelmed. Almost scared. _What is this?_

"Yuuri?"

He snaps out of it, stops the constant stream of images flooding from somewhere inside. A place he didn't know existed. "Y… yes?"

"Here." Victor takes a spoonful of yoghurt and puts it in his mouth. He reaches out, grabs hold of his t-shirt, and pulls him in. With a hand on the back of his head and a mouth intent on sharing, giving, he's offered to taste what Victor's bringing.

He mewls in response. Feeling Victor's tongue being cool, feeling the prickly tartness of the yoghurt inside his mouth… It is like he experiences a short circuit. His mind becomes empty, with all but one thought coursing through his head. _More._

It's a long, hungry union they partake in and he feels unsure how much of the yoghurt he's swallowed, how much that has been returned to Victor. They break apart eventually, when Victor's reaching for one of the coffee cups on the tray.

"Come. Come here," he demands before he takes a mouthful of coffee, making their previous collision do an encore.

Yuuri doesn't get any coffee, but the rapid change in heat against his tongue and inside his mouth makes the room spin. He clambers on to him, with both hands in his hair as he hopes that contact with the silver strands can make him come to his senses. He tastes him, tastes him, tastes him. Wanting to feel more of that heat, more of that strange duality.

"Wow," Victor whispers against his lips.

"Wow." He can't say anything else. Realising that the morning they just experienced differed remarkably from many they'd shared before.

* * *

They share the shower, feeling dazed. Being somewhat introspective. Trying to make sense of what happened over breakfast.

Victor tries to glance over his shoulder as he rinses out the shampoo, tilting his head back slightly to see him. _Breakfast happened. All over. And… I loved it._ He sees Yuuri standing behind him, busy with lathering himself up. He feels immensely turned on seeing him, so horny it's ridiculous.

His mind wanders back to the moment. Before his inner eye, he sees Yuuri get on all fours. _Taking the initiative._ How his tongue was the first thing to touch him, how arousing it was to see it become compressed as it met him, how it skimmed across his skin, how slick and cool it felt afterwards… He shudders as the image pops up into his head, how disgustingly wonderful it was, how suggestive it was. How he wants so much more than that brief little… peek. Yes, that little tantalising taste of something that he understands that he can't get out of his mind. It's not an acquired taste, it's a need. A gluttonous desire, a paroxysm of want.

He thinks about Yuuri too, how he reacted. Yes, he had taken the initiative but that doesn't mean anything in the long run. Stranger things have happened being in the moment. Although… this, he'd liked. The way he made sounds into his mouth, tasting both yoghurt and coffee, the way he had tangled his fingers into his hair. The way he had felt against him. Yes, he had been affected by eating breakfast too. Eating it off him.

He feels his arms around him from behind, a kiss finds his shoulder. He tries to push the images away, realising that his own private show needs to be paused for the moment.

"Victor, what are you thinking about? Oh…"

He can feel his eyes on him, but that doesn't bother him. It never has, never will. Not even when he's hard and all he wants is release. He feels his pulse elevate slightly, knowing that Yuuri knows. Now that he's seen him craving stimulation. He likes the thought of that, him realising what he's doing to him.

He feels the need to reply, and tries to do so matter-of-factly. "Of you, of course," he says as he lifts one of Yuuri's hands to his lips. "You have this effect on me. It doesn't really take much." _Not after that display in the bedroom. My god, Yuuri…_

"Stop being stupid," he says, leaning his forehead against his shoulder. "What… what do you want to do today, Victor? Now that we're both home and everything?"

 _Oh, love. The things I would like to do to you._ "I was thinking we could go out?" He feels a sigh against his back. "Hey, what's with that sigh? Come, switch places." He waits until Yuuri gets in front of him, claiming most of the water. "Thing is, there's this food festival going on and I thought we could go…"

He can't really put his finger on it, but he senses something. A change in him as he tries to rinse off the bodywash. He kisses his neck, it's an obvious action to gain access to his face although he wants to hide his intention.

He's happy to see him blush. It's a definite yes. And an explicit promise of something more.

* * *

Yuuri feels distant at first, walking next to Victor through the crowd. They get stopped regularly, of course people recognise them and ask for pictures and they, or rather Victor, obliges. Yuuri tries his best to be accommodating. Victor always tells him to loosen up and relax, that he's an official person despite his shyness, but today… his mind is definitely somewhere else.

He can't figure out what called out to him, what told him to lick his breakfast off his fianceé. What made them pass the breakfast around, from one mouth to the other until nothing remained than plump lips and messy chins. He had definitely been out of his comfort zone, looking at it retrospectively. Thinking about what he'd done made it seem like a dream. He had a hard time believing that it happened in the first place.

But, as they walk around he realises that there's something there, something that won't let him forget about what happened. Something that makes the images real and not as dissociative as he finds them. He realises, with embarrassment and excitement taking turns in the spotlight, that he still feels the same. Exactly the same as when he let his tongue play over Victor's chest and stomach.

He covers his mouth with his hand, feeling that annoying heat flare up on his cheeks. Of course, it's one thing feeling the lust and want and that is something he's gotten better accepting within himself, but why is that lust amplified, almost unbearable when food was added to the mix? Feeling an arm around his shoulders doesn't help or erase the fact that he's struggling.

"Love, what's…"

Hearing Victor's voice die out makes a pained little sound escape from Yuuri's lips. He feels hungry, and that is what bothers him. He's hungry in ways he never thought he could be, and the fact that Victor seems to have picked up on it makes him silently pray that the earth would consume him.

"Yuuri… I… Tell you what, let's just walk around a bit more, okay? Just a little and then, we can get back. Sounds good?"

Yuuri can't do much else than nod.

 **xoxo**

The name of the festival is fantastic in its own right, almost provocative considering the circumstances.

"What it's called," Victor asks when prompted. "It's called 'O, da! Eda!' Which means 'Oh, yes! Food!' Suitable, no?" He winks and follows up the gesture with a smile.

Yuuri feels insides clench. It's like the name is too perfect, the theme of the festival uncanningly fitting. He feels it creep up on him, the sudden feeling a slight paranoia. _Can all of this really be circumstantial? Why is this happening now?_ He glances at Victor from the corner of his eye, trying to assess if he's trying to tease him. That, he most definitely is, but maybe not in _that_ way. No, it seems like he's telling the truth. He realises that he has been too busy getting wrapped up in his feelings that he's been missing out on whatever Victor is saying. He decides to concentrate as he focuses on his voice.

"...and this park opened in 1945," Victor explains, "to commemorate the win over the Nazi forces. It's lovely here, being on an island and all."

"It is," he replies. Trying his best not to sound absentminded as intrusive thoughts are prodding.

"Here, come. Let's go this way," Victor suddenly says, tugging his hand slightly. "I'd like to buy some honey."

"Honey? Are we out?"

"Yes. Yes we are." He pauses, just for a second. It looks like a shadow of a smile influenced his lips. "Do you want anything?"

"Yes, I think so." He does, actually. All of the walking around has taken its toll, his stomach voicing its opinion on the matter. He inhales deeply before he returns the question. "Are you, uh, hungry?"

The smile is breathtaking. It's that smile that Yuuri knows is a hundred percent genuine. It's the smile that really is Victor. The smile Victor only shares with him.

"I am," Victor responds, with eyes that barely contain his excitement. Victor's attention is directed elsewhere, just briefly, when he picks out a jar of honey and pays for it. "Spasibo. Khoroshego dnya!"

"So…" Yuuri begins. "About eating something?"

"The world is our playground today, love. Find something you really like and we'll go from there.

 **xoxo**

It really becomes a playground, in a gastronomical sense. They walk around, taste bits and pieces of everything from cured meat to ice cream made with liquid nitrogen. From rustic Russian cuisine to contemporary Korean.

"Yuuri," Victor says after eating a savory piece of bread doused with olive oil, "we should be heading back now." He notices that Yuuri's trying to find it in him to appreciate olives, but his face gives him away. "You don't like them?" He can't hide his smile.

"Uh… they're not what I expected them to be." He looks a bit abashed, keeping his voice low.

"Want to share them?"

Yuuri instantly hands him the tiny plastic container. Two olives fight for space and it looks like one is filled with cheese, the other with something else. Victor isn't really interested in them, but he needs to make sure. He needs to see if what he's been observing is true.

He curls one of his fingers around one of Yuuri's, making his brown eyes seek his immediately. _That's a good sign._ He leans in a bit, making sure that what he's about to say is for Yuuri's ears only. He wants what they shared earlier to continue, but he won't push it. Not too much. "I was thinking of the one you still have in your mouth. I know for a fact that you haven't swallowed it."

He notices everything. The little flinch, the way Yuuri's eyes grow larger and starts to wander. How he suddenly can't stand still.

"Victor, we're not alone." His voice is barely audible, his eyes are stuck. Looking at something on the ground.

"It doesn't matter," he tells him with a touch against his cheek. "You want to?"

The nod is almost invisible. The kiss isn't.

The feeling of giving and receiving something with the help of a tongue ignites them, throwing them back into what they've been fantasising about on their own. They are together now though, fighting the torment of wanting it to end up just like before. When they were both hot, hard and heady. They both know that it will have to wait though, just a little bit longer.

* * *

"I think we need to shop for groceries," Victor exclaims in a cheery voice as they're getting closer to home.

"We do? Oh…"

Feeling Yuuri's grip grow a little tighter around his hand as he utters those words makes Victor's heartbeats accelerate. He feels as if he's got a lot to say before it really starts. Whatever 'it' is, whatever 'it' might turn into. The concept isn't new to him, which makes him even more giddy. He has an inkling what he wants, what he wants to give. Not knowing what he is about to receive, though, makes something in him ravenous. He really wants to find out what is going through the mind of the one he loves.

They enter the supermarket together. He eases up on his grip around Yuuri's hand as he reaches for a shopping basket.

"So, I…" Yuuri's got that becoming reddish tint on his cheeks. He seems at a loss for words.

"Pick out what you want for dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yes. Dinner. Whatever you want." He caresses Yuuri's cheek with a finger before he continues. Hearing that needy part of him spill over to his voice makes him speak a bit lower. He figures that this is a conversation just for them. "I'm going to pick out things I like, things I think will compliment you. I suggest you do the same."

He walks away from him with a smile, knowing very well that things have been set in motion. Hearing his name being called behind him only strengthens that notion.

"Victor? I'll… meet you outside."

He gets an impulse, but stifles it. But oh, how he wants to go back to him. Make him understand at least a fraction of what's going on inside. Make him know what he's made him feel and think throughout the day. _Yes, Yuuri. You will be paid in full._

 **xoxo**

He watches him as he walks away. It takes a while before he regains control over himself. Before he can start to think, start to move. He feels shaky when he does. Reaching for a basket of his own makes him understand what they've started, seeing his hand tremble as he closes his fingers around the handle.

There's an anticipation growing. He realises that. He feels it in himself, how he just wants to be done with this, the trivialities, and see things through. The buildup is… he would like to say that he hates it but he knows that he'd be lying if he did. He loves it. Loves how the smallest, most insignificant touch, intonation and look make him more connected, more invested. More lost in something he doesn't know how to fully grasp. Something that's new and uncharted.

They walk past each other on occasion. The first time, they look at each other. Smile a bit. Feeling slightly curious. Trying to see what the other is thinking by trying to get a glimpse of what's in that basket. But as they continue to pass each other, they become more focused. Not in a way that they're trying to figure out the other's choices, but rather more focused on the idea of surprising the other. Trying to make sure that it will be good.

It's with a beating heart and shaky knees that he pays for what he has chosen. As he's packing his things, he sees Victor walking down to the checkout. They share a moment as Victor waits in line, just before Yuuri's about to exit. It's nothing more than eyes meeting eyes, but the look they give each other speaks volumes. They can't wait to get home in order to finish what they started.

* * *

It's strange to him. Walking home, knowing what purpose the contents of the plastic bag he's carrying have. Meeting people that seemingly have no idea what they're going to do, what the things in the bag are going to be used for. It's like he's living in a world of make-believe, where the outside world doesn't have the full picture. Nor will it ever get that opportunity.

They stand in silence on the bottom floor, waiting for the lift. He realises that they haven't said a thing on the way back. In a strange way, that only adds to the clawing that goes on inside. How they almost treated each other as strangers while shopping, how the silence continued. Even now, standing next to him. He who started all this by making a glorious mess in bed.

He wants to do something, the feeling inside is beginning to overwhelm, to hurt. But he decides to try and bear it for a little while longer, although filthy thoughts wants to take control, make him form words. They're nothing but a minute away from being home, locking the door behind them and...

It's not surprising that it's Victor who breaks the silence. Yuuri almost counted on him to.

"So… happy with your choices?" He glances at him for a second before redirecting his eyes, watching the doors to the lift with a pretended interest.

"I… yes. Very."

He gets a cooing laugh in response. One that tells him that he is amused. But there's something more to that sound. There's an excitement there, one that time and time again has proved itself to be like a tidal wave. When it crashes over you, into you, there's no way of resisting. It feels better to follow him, to go with that force he creates.

Yuuri can't help to wonder if that is what's going on. If he's been slowly conditioned to him, doing his bidding but thinking that he's got autonomy. _No. This morning, I wanted this. I still do. I just don't know how to… do this._

The ding of the lift makes him lose his train of thought. As the doors open, he's the first to enter. The doors barely closes before he's pressed up against the wall, feeling Victor against him.

"I have longed to have you to myself all day." His blue eyes are narrow, focused on meeting his. His breath is passing through slightly parted lips, caressing his cheek. He's incredibly close, in all meanings of the word.

"It was your idea, though. To go out." He meets his gaze. He instantly feels his pulse in his throat when he sees his expression. _It has already started._

"True. And look where it got us. You wouldn't want it any other way, though. Right, Yuuri?"

In all honesty, he doesn't. The roads they travelled on during the day were winding, but it led them to this, to this very moment. And everything that will happen after. He doesn't want anything to be undone, he realises. He doesn't know what makes him say it, but he does. In the heat of the moment. "Vitya, I want you."

It's the truth, but at the same time, he feels as if he's been trying out masks all day. He's not sure where that part of him comes from. If it's a passing fancy or something irreversible. But right then and there, it feels natural.

He gets interrupted by his voice. By his body pressing ever deeper into him.

"I swear, Yuuri. If you say anything else, I'm going to have you. Right here." His lips brushes against his as he continues. "And that's not part of the plan."

 **xoxo**

It's like the calm before the storm. They enter the flat. They take off their coats. Their shoes. Pats the dog. It's like it is a normal day, a day coming home after shopping. A day without great discoveries, heated thoughts and otherworldly restraint. But it's not. The energy between them, that is something else. Not normal at all. It's like they're both vibrating, waiting for a signal.

They walk into the kitchen. Victor puts his two bags on the kitchen island, Yuuri's opposite him, by the oven. He gets caught up looking at him, his back and the way his dark hair looks against his lightly coloured shirt. He decides that they have to. He doesn't know if they have to _start_ per se, but he needs them to be close. So, he eliminates the space between them as he comes up from behind.

He slides his hand from Yuuri's shoulder down to his elbow, placing his lips where his neck meets his shoulder. Just keeping them there. He wants to find out where he is, if it'll take some work to make him ready or if he actually is.

It's like the air gets sucked out of the room when Yuuri sighs, when he tilts his head to the side, opening up for him to do, to take action. He breathes in, tries to stay in control for just a little longer. But he's making it hard for him, being no talk and all subtle movements. When he feels Yuuri's hand on the back of his head, in his hair, he's got to break the silence.

"I love you. Tell me how you want this to go." He scrapes his teeth against the top of his shoulder, bringing out a gasp with his action. "I know you feel how much I want you." He flexes his hips against him to prove his point. He can't remember being this focused, this needy, this fragile. The excitement makes him a slave to him, a slave to his beck and call.

When he understands it, feeling his skin against his lips, hearing his shuddering breaths, he just wants to come. It's a fine line he's walking on now, being close to just disregard everything and seek the euphoria. Claim it without no regards or regrets. But he waits. Or at least, tries to.

"Ah… I do. I do. I do feel you." His words, his hunger, is the greatest reward. "I… we… need to, I can't wait. I just…"

"Then, my katsudon, why don't you show me. Show me what you want for dinner."

 **xoxo**

They decide, between messy and eager kisses and hands forcing themselves underneath clothes, to bring two things each. For starters.

"I just… I have to use the microwave. I must, uh, heat something up." His words tumble over each other, making him self-conscious. Feeling Victor's hands on him, leaving no patch of skin untouched underneath his shirt, makes it harder to think. It incapacitates him, knowing what will happen. The feeling reminds him of being close to fainting, being close to lose control and composure altogether and enter an existence beyond all that.

"You've given this some thought." Victor's voice sounds sticky, full with the built-up expectations and desire he has shown him already. "Join me when you're ready."

Victor leaves him with a kiss that makes them both moan, before picking something out of his bags. The way his hand leaves a lingering warmth on the side of his neck makes him sink down on his heels. His pulse, it can be felt everywhere, it's making him try to catch his breath. He feels consumed by him, and nothing has really happened. It has all been a game within their minds so far, he can't grasp the power of what they've been doing to each other, but he feels it. Everywhere.

He feels shaky when he stands up, holding on to the oven handle. They are going to do this. _He_ is going to do this. He tries to rally his thoughts as he looks into the bag with what he bought. He picks out two things, just like they agreed.

He finds a cup and breaks down his first choice into little pieces before he puts it into the microwave. The other, he cuts in half.

When the microwave dings, he takes out the cup and stirs the contents around with a spoon. He licks it off before putting it into the sink, feeling that jolt in the pit of his stomach. He inhales sharply, feeling that telltale sign of lust. He can't wait to do the same to him. Lick him. Get this on him. Off him.

"Victor?"

"Bedroom."

He starts walking in the direction of is voice. "Won't it get messy? What about the bedclothes?" He curses himself. He can't understand why he does that, always bringing up something totally unnecessary, totally mundane, in the heat of the moment.

As he comes through the doorway, both of his hands being busy holding what he's got high hopes for, he stops. Victor looks ethereal, standing across the room in his underwear. His shirt is in his hands, like he's just freed himself from it. And that smile, that supernova smile that gives him every feeling between confidence to uncertainty.

"We have a washing machine." He drops his shirt on the floor and runs a hand through his hair to push it back from his face. "Come. Join me."

Yuuri does, after he closes the door with a kick.

* * *

They find out together, after Yuuri's put his things away, on his side of the bed, on his nightstand. They start with the familiar, the things they have done to and with each other, time and time again.

Yuuri gets welcomed by hands that quickly finds their way underneath his shirt. Victor's hands are hot, scorching against his back, when he places himself on top of him, on his lap. He feels eager to Yuuri, how he's pulling at the hem of his shirt, how his breathing is fast against his neck. How he is hard against him, being restricted by nothing but his underwear.

"Up with your arms," Victor says. His voice is somewhere in between a command and an appeal. His blue eyes are full of intent though. They are fettering him. Not giving him any options.

Yuuri does what he's being told, raising his arms up. He hears Victor sigh, he can almost feel it too, as his hands linger at the small of his back. It has a more pronounced sway due to the fact that his arms are above his head, something that seems to have caught Victor's attention.

He gets help with coming out of his shirt, feeling his glasses getting caught in the neckline. He's quick to remove them when his head comes through the opening. He leans over to his nightstand and folds them neatly before putting them away. He realises that this is the beginning of what he started. He feels responsible somehow, like he needs to perform. To show that he isn't without substance, like he needs to convince both himself and Victor of this.

He watches as Victor pushes his shirt on the floor before his hands are busy with undoing the button of his jeans. Not once do the blue eyes look away, not once is his attention directed elsewhere. He stays in the moment, with him.

"Let's get you out of these, hm?"

Yuuri reluctantly gets off him before he leans back, preparing to wriggle out of his jeans. He gets help, like always. Both with getting out of clothes and staying in the right state of mind.

He loves how his hands caress the jeans off him, how he follows up the touches with his mouth. How he finally comes back after his brief desertion.

"I want you on your stomach," Victor breathes into his ear.

"No, I… I..." He tries to calm himself. "I… need to go first."

Again, that smile that makes him come undone. "Oh, _really_ now?"

"Yes, I have something there and if it gets cool, it's of no use." He looks away, battling the feeling of being in charge, of being demanding. "So, I… um, I want you on your back, instead."

 **xoxo**

He doesn't have to ask him twice. Yuuri taking the initiative does things to him that he can't begin to understand. It's all about conflicting emotions, conflicting thoughts. Like being lost and found, wanting to take charge but feeling the urge to just leave it all in his hands where it belongs. This is such a moment. When everything comes together, strangely enough, and just lets him be in a existence where it's okay to be both.

He reclines. He can't keep his smile under control.

"So, I bought this," Yuuri says as he leans over to his nightstand, giving him a perfect view of his ass. There's no doubt, this day cannot fail in any meaning of the word.

He scoots closer, holding the cup. To Victor, it looks like Yuuri's a bit like him. Battling two things at once, two opposing things.

"So, I'm just going to… like, pou…" He hesitates, his cheeks blushing.

"Love, you know what? You talk too much." He sits up, using one of his arms as support. The other finds the back of Yuuri's head, his fingers twisting around in his hair. "You don't have to."

As he leans in, as he pulls him a bit closer, he catches the smell of the contents of the cup. He doesn't say anything, other than the words the kiss conveys. He laughs a little before getting back to being horizontal. He can't wait for him to start, for him to understand that he doesn't have to be nervous or self-conscious. But that is something Yuuri needs to find out for himself.

He flinches, surprised when the liquid makes contact with his skin. At once, he gets heady. Feels his heart beat both harder and faster. _Chocolate._

It's not much that gets poured on him, but the way it spreads from his chest down to his stomach makes it seem like a lot. The way it flows on top of him… it both looks and feels amazing, the way it makes small pools on a couple of places promises much.

Yuuri puts the cup on the floor, still battling heated cheeks. He remains upright for a moment. Victor can see his eyes move, trailing his body. And then, he leans in.

He holds his breath when he sees Yuuri get closer, having his tongue slightly outside his mouth. Ready to clean up the mess he started. He shudders out of anticipation. It feels like an eternity to him before he makes contact with his skin, how the tongue gets compressed anew against him. But when it does, when he puts a hand on his hip, when he makes eye contact with him under dark lashes, Victor can't hold it in anymore. The released tension becomes a moan.

"Yuuri… oh, god…" He finds the hand he feels on his hip, holds on to it. He needs to hold on to something, he'll lose himself if he doesn't. At the same time, he wants to. He wants to get so lost that there's no chance of getting back. But it's early, way too early. Therefore, his grip becomes tighter with every lick.

It's the most amazing picture. Seeing Yuuri take his time, deliberately licking and slurping up the chocolate. Making eye contact on occasion, delivering a smile when they do. He spends quite some time around his navel, trying hard to make him clean, before he travels upward. Across his abs, along the groove of his sternum before he's reached the jugular notch.

"You taste so good," he says with a smile before he dips his tongue in the little puddle.

"I swear, Yuuri… I'm not going to last another treatment like this."

"I hope you do," he says while licking his lips. "There's no pride in coming first."

 **xoxo**

He senses a change in himself. Yes, the feeling from before. When he found himself caught up in the famine, the starvation that only could be sated by licking Victor, making him clean, devouring him. He succumbs to it, enjoying every second of the moment they share.

As he delivers his very last lick, feeling the waning taste of chocolate and the waxing taste of Victor, he trembles. He wants more, more of this. More of him.

He gets pulled in. Met by hot breaths coming out of Victor's mouth as he kisses him, as his tongue goes deep into his mouth. Initially, he feels a bit taken aback. But when it dawns on him that he did _this_ , he made Victor feel like _this_ , he reciprocates with the same urgency.

Their hands almost grow too eager, trying to grab hold of each other underneath their underwear. They both want it, but they also want more. Yuuri realises that they need to stop their hands from travelling, they have just started.

"Do you want more, Victor?" He speaks low into his ear.

"Yes. I want everything you can give me."

"We need to, ahㅡ" He whines when Victor's hand breaks the barrier, when it finds it's way underneath the waistband of his underwear. For a couple of seconds, he forfeits. Gets lost in the sensation of him taking hold of him, stimulating him. Getting back, finding his way into at least one functioning part of his brain is a struggle but he manages.

"Vi...Vitya, no." He takes his hand, stops it from doing the motions that he always allow. "Not yet!"

"Yuuri… God, I just want to take you. Shit, you're amazing."

They collide, with mouths and eyes open, savoring everything about the other. Strangely, it seems like the heated moment soothes some of the desperation in Victor. Yuuri sees the change in his eyes, when they become more purposeful than before, when they were all about instant satisfaction.

"Now, love," Victor breathes against his neck. "I want you on your stomach. I want you to arch your back as much as you can. Show me that lovely sway."

Victor leaves his side and he settles on his stomach. He flexes his hips down in the mattress, hollowing out his back and props himself up on his elbows. He hears an appreciative hum from Victor, somewhere behind him.

"I love being drunk on you."

The liquid is cold, ice cold, as it runs down from the nape of his neck down to the small of his back where he can feel it pool up. He tries to look over his shoulder but he can't see Victor at all.

Suddenly, he feels his presence, his body heat. He glances over his shoulder. Victor seems to be on all fours, hovering over him.

"Yuuri, my love. Za tvoyo zdorov'ye."

He feels the puddle resting at the small of his back grow smaller, hears it too as Victor slurps up a mouthful. He's surprised when he feels his fingers on his jaw, coaxing him to tilt his head up and back.

They unite in a kiss. A kiss that fills his mouth with vodka, as the alcohol slowly starts to evaporate from his back.

 **xoxo**

As some of the vodka escapes them both, runs down their chins and wets his fingers, he hears Yuuri moan. That sound that sustains him. The sound that makes him crazy. Hearing that sound as a direct consequence to what they're doing makes him want to do it again, again, again. He never wants that reaction or that noise to disappear from his life.

As he lets him go, losing the contact with his mouth and his chin he notices that most of the vodka ended up on the duvet. The thought of that amuses him. That is what he wants sex to be, messy, all over with no second thoughts.

He runs his tongue along Yuuri's spine for good measure, holding on to his ass at the same time. There's still a faint taste of vodka left on him, and that is all he needs. He prefers the taste of him anyway.

The way he looks when he's making curves and lines like that has physical effects on him. He can't help but to chuckle a bit as he feels himself throb, ending his licking with a little nibble on the side of his neck.

He puts himself on top of him, weighs him down a little. Showing him his appreciation by grinding his hips against him while kissing his shoulders.

"Victor!" There's nothing upsetting is his voice, just pure amusement.

"To think that a two course meal could be so exerting. We're not past the appetizers yet."

"Are you full," Yuuri asks in a slightly mocking tone.

"No, never! I just need a break. I'm not as young as you, excitement gets to me." He feels Yuuri tense up a bit, so he relieves some of his weight from him to let him turn around to face him.

"We don't have to go through the whole menu, you know." Yuuri puts his fingers in Victor's hair and pulls it back from his face.

"Sounds like you are the one who's had enough, don't pin this on me. I feel you, you're not unaffected by this." He sighs a bit. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Then, we're going to play a game. Necktie or no necktie?"

Yuuri blinks. "Neck… tie? I think?"

"Good choice. Close your eyes, love. You're going on a treasure hunt."

 **xoxo**

"This is just to prevent you from cheating." Victor's voice is husky as he ties Yuuri's hands behind his back with the necktie. "I think we'll use that sleep mask of yours too."

Yuuri watches as Victor goes over to his nightstand all pulls out the sleep mask.

"Say goodbye to seeing me for a little while."

"Silly." Victor puts the mask on him, and everything goes completely dark.

"So…" Victor's voice is sounding somewhere to his left. It gets accompanied by a small click. "Somewhere on me is a dollop of honey. I want you to find it. You can't see me or feel me, because that would be cheating."

"That means I can only use my… tongue, right?"

"Oh, Yuuri… you're so clever. I'm going to make this a bit easier for you. This is what it tastes like. Open up."

Yuuri opens his mouth a little and feels a finger being pressed softly on his tongue. He takes it in his mouth, lets his tongue caress and roll around it. It's Victor's ring finger, he feels the ring against his tongue as he savors the taste of the honey combined with the metal.

Victor lets out a laugh before he puts his hand against his stomach, trailing teasingly downwards. "Promise you'll do that to me later. Come, stand up for me."

Yuuri laughs as he gets to his feet. "How do I know where to start?"

"Oh, you'll figure it out, I'm sure."

Yuuri scoffs, he feels a bit stumped. _Where to start? Where does he like to be touched? No, that's stupid, it's everywhere. Let's go with his chest, then._

He takes a step forward and bumps into Victor as he leans a bit forward.

"I'm here," Victor says softly.

Yuuri tries to orient himself by feeling Victor's body with his face. He think he's against the side his ribcage, so he starts to lick and see if he can pick up on the taste from before. He finds nothing. Nothing other than a little shiver.

"I _love this_." Victor's voice is thick with lust.

He trails his tongue along to Victor's front and picks up another taste. He gets disappointed when he realises that it's the chocolate from before. He tries to see if his stomach is the pot of gold, but he can only taste chocolate.

 _It wasn't easy at all._ He doesn't understand why, but he gets a little impatient. He loves the premise, but he's starting to think that Victor's lying. He decides to find out, and since he knows what to focus on to make Victor quake, he decides to go all in.

He finds a nipple without much effort. Of course, there's no honey there, it would have been too easy. But he wants Victor to at least give him something.

"I think it's here," he says between licks. He can hear Victor's breathing become ragged, strained as he continues to flick is tongue against him.

He hears him moan, say something in Russian followed by his name. He picks up on something else too, and feels the need to address it.

"Are you touching yourself, Victor?" _He definitely is. He just stopped._

"No."

"Not now, but maybe ten seconds ago?"

There is a pause. He feels Victor shift next to him. Hears the soft sound of something flicking against Victor's skin. _The waistband. Seriously, Victor…_

"Yes. Okay, yes, I did."

"Don't. You can tell me if I'm getting closer instead."

Victor laughs, not at all fazed by being caught it seems. "Sure. Right now, it's cold."

"Up or down?"

"What do you think?"

"Down it is, then."

"See? I just knew you would figure it out."

 **xoxo**

Seeing Yuuri get down on his knees makes him want to do a lot of things. Dig his fingers into his hair, guide his mouth somewhere else. Hold on to something as he makes the climb. It takes all the self-control he can possibly muster to stand still, not do anything.

"Getting warmer," he says as Yuuri tastes his thigh, slightly above the knee.

Hearing that seemingly sparks something within Yuuri. he begins to get more into tasting him, using his lips more. His tongue more.

"Do you need to drink something?" He's concerned. After all he's been licking a lot, getting nothing but skin in return.

"I'm fine. Hot or cold?"

He feels his tongue on the inside of his thigh, slightly higher than before. "Getting slightly warmer. You're a natural."

Yuuri begins to do longer licks, covering more skin with every endeavour.

 _He's getting close. Fuck, I can't stand this._ He has to bite his lower lip to stifle a moan. Watching Yuuri makes him hard, and he feels himself get more and more affected by the display that goes on down below. _God, why did I have to blindfold him? It would have been so fucking hot seeing him._

" _Blyad',_ Yuuri, come on…"

Yuuri stops for a couple of seconds, after having skimmed over a patch of skin high up on the inside of Victor's thigh. He licks again, more carefully this time. It is the right spot.

"You put a lot on there, Victor."

He feels his breathing getting ragged. The stimulation so close to his crotch by that tongue is unbearable. He realises that he can't stand him licking him. He'll come from that alone, he just knows it.

"Use your teeth."

"What?"

"Your teeth, use your teeth!"

Feeling Yuuri's teeth dig in, albeit softly, into the inside of his thigh helps in a lot of ways. The miniscule sting takes the edge away and the teeth scrapes off more honey than the tongue ever could. But Yuuri doesn't stop. After the dollop is scraped off, he continues to tease him.

"Yuuri, stop. Leave it! I can't have you doing that anymore, I'll come!"

"But there's still some left." Yuuri's voice is filled with cheek. Apparently, he doesn't have to see to understand what's going on.

Victor stops him by putting his hands on his shoulders, getting down on his knees himself. He takes off the sleep mask from Yuuri's face and gives him a kiss. A soft one, not at all conveying the urgency he feels.

"You're crazy," he says against his lips.

"Untie me," Yuuri whispers. "I want to touch you with my hands now."

 **xoxo**

They share the orange that was Yuuri's second option, talking one half each.

"What were you planning on doing with it?" Victor's voice is slightly distorted as he chews.

"Squeeze it into your mouth, I think."

"That's hot."

Yuuri snickers a little as he leans in, offering Victor a piece with his mouth.

"That too," Victor purrs.

They remain entwined in bed for a while, doing nothing more than kissing and caressing. Feeling more contained but with an edge.

"Know what," Victor exclaims suddenly. "I'm just going to go up. Briefly. You want anything?"

"No, thank you. Hurry, though."

"I will, it'll take a minute, tops."

Yuuri nods and watches in silence as Victor gets out of bed. He listens to his steps as they grow weaker. Yuuri hears him turn on the tap, which means he's in the kitchen. After a minute, maybe two, Victor comes back with two cups.

"Thank you, but I don'tㅡ"

"It's not for you. Or, it is but not in the way you think. Take off your underwear."

They look at each other, knowing very well that the day must culminate somehow.

"But…" Yuuri begins. Wondering if this means that he'll be spent and Victor will be left unsatisfied.

"Let me take care of you, okay? Take off your underwear. You're going to love this."

As he does what he's been told, he notices Victor fish something out of one of the cups with his fingers, putting it into his mouth.

"Ready," he asks with one cheek protruding slightly.

"I… I think so."

"Just lean back, love. Don't worry."

Yuuri feels tense, not knowing what is about to happen. When he feels Victor's lips on his chest, he doesn't get relaxed, he combusts. Feeling the coolness makes him understand that he's got ice in his mouth. The morning's events starts to play before his inner eye, when he got a rush by the kiss that changed temperature, and he feels that sensation again. Without anything actually happening.

He hears Victor laugh as he continues to kiss his chest, stopping for just a brief moment. "I saw what it did to you this morning. This will be better."

He doesn't need to hold him to that promise, he knows it will. Every kiss that ends up on him with those cool lips does nothing but convincing him.

All of a sudden, the kissing stops. Victor comes up to him, smiling. "Hold this for me," he says as he meets his mouth, leaving the remains of the ice cube between Yuuri's lips. "I love what you've done for me today. Now it's my turn to return the favor."

 **xoxo**

Yuuri can feel the anticipation build inside of him. His mind is many steps ahead of the rest of his being, making him see and feel things that haven't happened. Things that he's not sure he ever will.

He's there, naked in front of Victor. Under normal circumstances, he would be nervous, self-conscious, but he can't access such emotions at all. Not when the day has been one long, seemingly never ending road leading up to this moment. He wants it though, everything within him screams for the release he hopes that Victor can deliver.

He watches him. How he reaches over to pick up both of the cups on his side of the bed, puts them closer to where he sits. Victor's leg is, accidentally or unintentionally, brushing up against his hip, making his body react within seconds. It hurts, Yuuri realises. It has become a torture, waiting. Hoping he'll resume. Do something. Anything.

"Okay?"

Victor's voice makes him grip the sheets. He needs to hold on to something in order to stay composed. He nods, feeling silly that he can't think of anything else to hold on to. He would have chosen Victor, but he's too far away. Also, he's needed down there, being more than within an arm's length away.

"Already, love?" Victor nods in the direction of Yuuri's hand. "Might as well be prepared, right?"

His comment doesn't do anything to ease the churning chaos that is going on. Rather the opposite, really. Victor's voice is full of promise, teasing him. Making his mind do a second take with images, feelings and wishes. _Just begin, please just_ ㅡ

Yuuri's taken by surprise when Victor scoots down and takes him in his mouth. His initial reaction is letting a shuddering gasp escape his lips. The feeling is insane. How it's slick and cool around him. He loses himself as Victor claims more of him. He tilts his head backwards as he tries to breathe, closing his eyes as his fingers dig deep into the sheets.

Victor wasn't lying. It is better. Better than he could ever imagine it to be.

He can't open his eyes. He knows that seeing him, seeing what he's doing to him, will end him immediately. His mind is doing an excellent job of painting that picture for him though, how he disappears into Victor's mouth. Into that cool blessing of a mouth.

Yuuri understands that Victor is playing with him. Exactly in the same way he's been playing with him. He feels Victor's slow, deliberate licks all over him. How the licks get upgraded to sought-after added pressure with lips and tongue.

All of a sudden, Victor stops. Yuuri's response is automatic, as soon as he notices the coolness around him disappearing. "Ngh… Victor, please. Don't stop just…"

"I know, love It's frustrating. It'll be better soon." Victor's voice is slightly distorted. Yuuri makes the connection that he's taken another ice cube in his mouth. The mere thought of going through that disabling, wondrous sensation again makes him moan a little.

He feels Victor's hands on the insides of his thighs. He wants him to stop teasing him, and he spreads his legs some more just to prove his need. Instead of being rewarded with what he's yearning for, he feels Victor's tongue trace patterns on the insides of his thighs.

"Vi... Vitya, please…"

He feels jubilant inside when he feels Victor move. A hope flickers inside him, maybe this is the moment for it to… begin? End? He's not sure, but he wants him. Wants him to resume. When he understands that Victor's not making himself comfortable between his legs, he feels disappointed. It's only for a fraction of a second. When he feels his icy tongue play over his nipples, he opens his eyes. As he sees their meeting, he lets out a loud, shuddering gasp.

He doesn't want to come, not like this. His hands finds Victor's hair, he's somehow hoping that it will pull him away from the edge. But as the licking and sucking kisses continue, and a hand grabs hold of him, stroking rhythmically for even more stimulation, he can't do much than to breathe. Moan with every exhale through parted lips.

Finally, he gets what he's been longing for. As soon as he feels enveloped again, he feels it. The last push before the delicious fall. It only lasts for a short moment. Again, Victor lets him go, starts to stroke him with his hand. He feels confused, played with. Slightly frustrated too. He wants to say something, but his throat is parched, shriveled up from using his mouth to breathe with.

And then, it happens. His entire length gets inside Victor's mouth. It's not cool not, it's warm. Almost hot. He loses the dominion over himself, the cry explodes out of him. Continues to linger in the room, bouncing off the walls in a seemingly endless repeat.

Victor is relentless. His mouth is moving faster now, being more deliberate than before. And he's warm. _So incredibly warm._ Yuuri barely manages to finish the thought before he falls, feeling his release ripple underneath his skin.

"Vitya, Vitya, Vit~ _YA_! Ah! Ngh, ahㅡ"

And then, it becomes quiet. Still. Just like the morning started.

 **-the end-**


	16. Bonus: Happy mother's day

**20K hits? Honestly, you guys ;_; Thank you so, so, so much for reading _New beginnings_ and all its bonus chapters!**

 **Here's a little fluffy thing for you. Happy mother's day. As always, thanks so much for reading! xoxo**

* * *

She found it to be hard, in the beginning. Being without him. Her only son. Her youngest. Her little boy. She loved her children as much, but her son… she worried about him. Constantly. He wasn't like his sister, he was softer, more fragile. Hard on himself. Even though he was talented, very talented as far as she'd been told, he couldn't acknowledge that part of himself.

Waking up that morning, she felt a little tug in her heart. She had gotten used to waking up without him, knowing that she wouldn't be seeing him in the morning due to him studying abroad for so many years. Today felt different. Spending some time thinking about it, she realised he'd been gone almost a fifth of his life. A fifth of his life, and she hadn't seen him once in that time. And now, he continued being gone.

She wanted him there, and sometimes, she even felt silly thinking about missing him. He was grown up now, but that didn't help. She still worried. He was her little boy. And that he would remain for as long as she was his mother.

She knew that he had taken another step into adulthood now. He had moved, away from Japan to another country. To live with someone he loved. Someone he had looked up to for his entire life. It made her tear up, just thinking about it. Maybe, just maybe, it would work out for him too. Finally. Maybe she could stop her worrying.

"Dear?" Her husband's voice was accompanied by a soft rap on the door.

"Yes, honey?"

He emerged in the doorway, smiling. Being dressed in a bathrobe with his hair messy and his glasses askew. The father of her children.

"Happy mother's day," he said, carrying a tray.

"Oh, now, you shouldn't have!" She couldn't stop her smiling. "Breakfast in bed, what a treat!"

He leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Take your time. I'll start out there."

She put her hand on his cheek, giving it a little pat. "Thank you, Tosshi."

She waited until she was alone before she drank her tea, ate her tamagoyaki. The feeling of lounging in bed was uncomfortable. Unfamiliar, even. She decided to get dressed and join in on the morning preparations.

* * *

"Mom?" The sound of her daughter's voice made her turn around as she was cleaning up after the guests' breakfast.

"Yes, Mari-dear?"

"Here." She presented a small, neatly wrapped gift box. "This is from me. Also," she said, turning around to grab something behind her, "this came earlier."

"Oh, now. You are spoiling me! Flowers too?"

"They're not from me," Mari shrugged slightly before she walked away towards the kitchen with a tray, carrying dirty dishes.

She watched her daughter walk off before started to open the bouquet. The smell of the flowers, the red carnations, burst out of the wrapping. She opened it carefully, making sure not to tear the paper too much. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the card tucked in between the stems.

 _Hi mom,_

 _Happy mother's day!_

 _I'm sorry I can't give these to you in person._

 _I hope you'll have a nice day._

 _-Yuuri_

"Oh, honey. That was thoughtful." She wiped away a tear with her apron. "Better put these in water."

She nodded to some of the guests she met on her way to the kitchen, answering politely that it was indeed a mother's day gift she was carrying and yes, she was really lucky to have such thoughtful children.

As she entered the kitchen, looking for a vase or something bigger to accommodate the bountiful bouquet, she felt moved. Moved that he'd thought of her. That he'd made an effort to honour their bond, being so far away. Still, the flowers couldn't take away the longing. It was always there.

* * *

Sundays were slow, for the most part. Weekend visitors usually left before lunch, giving her and her family time to clean the rooms during the hours that led up to dinner.

Sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to retire. To sell the inn and onsen and buy a comfortable apartment instead where they, she and her husband, could enjoy life together without catering to others. Playing with the thought was inviting, but bringing it up felt impossible. Deep down inside, she knew that there were so many memories tied up in the place. Their home. Their family home.

No matter where she looked, she could see little scenes play out before her eyes. Her husband tripping on toys, her daughter learning to ride her bicycle, her son taking his first steps. But more recent memories added to the plethora of things she couldn't be without, things that would get lost if they were to leave. Her husband whispering that he loved her after thirty years of marriage, her daughter telling her that she would take over the establishment, her son coming home with a medal around his neck and a ring on his finger.

No, her life was here. This was a hub, her life's work, where everyone could get together and always feel welcome. That is what she'd wished for, all that she wanted to sustain. It was especially important now, now that the family was scattered.

Carrying bedclothes upon bedclothes to the laundry room, she heard the commotion outside. The noises of things rattling against the stone paved walkway, voices calling although she couldn't hear what they were saying.

"Toshiya, are we getting deliveries today?" She paused, her arms still full of linens. "Toshiya?" She peeked outside, pulled the sliding door open just a tiny bit. Seeing nothing but the back of her husband. "Toshiya, what is going on?"

"Hi!" A voice sounding in English. "I thought that I, oh, that's right. In _Japanese! Forgive the bad Japanese I am talking, but I bring him now to big surprise!_ "

"Victor, that's not… _Hello mom. Surprise. Happy mother's day."_

She dropped what she was carrying, pushed her husband out of the way. She could recognise those voices anywhere, anytime, anyplace.

" _Yuuri! Vicchan! Ooh… You… You are here! You are really here!"_ She ran down the steps in her indoor slippers, not giving her reaction a second thought. Hurrying to fall into the arms of her son. " _Oh, honey, I… I got your flowers. They were wonderful. But this… this is…"_

" _Oh, mom… Don't cry, okay?"_

She was gently pushed away, only to be embraced again.

"Hello, Hiroko. I brought him home to you. Happy mother's day."

" _What is he saying? Vicchan, I can't understand you."_ She spoke into his chest, hearing her son's voice slightly to the left.

" _He's saying that he brought me home. Home to you."_

She stretched out an arm, motioning him to come closer. Not daring to show her face. She was weeping, and that was something she considered to be private.

When the embrace became complete, with her feeling two sets of arms around her, she understood that she had completed her duty as a mother. She had done it well. Not only had she had raised a son, she had let him go to seek his own path, his own truth. But more importantly, she had made him feel the need to return, to come back home on his own accord, by his own will. Bringing yet another son into her life. And for that, she was eternally grateful.

She could finally stop worrying.


	17. Bonus: Date night

**I love you guys! Thank you for all the comments, likes and so on. Hope this little story will make you feel as warm inside as I get when I hear from you :)**

 **xoxo**

* * *

They had been planning for the evening to happen for quite some time. Not just weeks in advance, more like months. At the time, when the plan was nothing but a wish, it had been a wish born out of frustration. All spoken from the lips of a tired couple, not only a coach and a student but also competitors, feeling the strain, pressure and pain that comes with being elite athletes.

The wish was simple; to spend an evening that could be just about them. An evening when they could focus on nothing but themselves, reacquainting with the other without having to pay attention to the world around them. An evening to make up for countless of others spent in a tired and disconnected haze. And thus, the wish had become a plan. Something that had to happen once life simmered down, during the glorious off-season.

That's the charm with making plans, it gives you a little push forward. Something to look forward to. Something that makes you flex instead of break. Even if it's just a small, seemingly insignificant one. To Victor, it had been more than a push forward. More than something small and seemingly insignificant. It had been his fuel during the last couple of weeks of competing, when his body was sore and his energy was spent. He would get the time he needed, together with the one he loved and shared everything with. If he just held on, for a little while longer.

And now, the evening was finally upon them. Victor couldn't stop the spontaneous smiles that claimed his face, time and time again. To think that something so simple as knowing that they were going out to dinner, maybe drinking just enough to get slightly uninhibited, could make such a difference. Not only to his mood but to his whole demeanor. He felt relaxed, even slightly giddy.

He turned off the shower, feeling a slight chill as the warm water stopped its travels across his body and started to evaporate. He reached for his towel and started to massage the water out of his hair before he patted himself dry, ending his little routine with wrapping the towel around his waist.

He walked out of the shower and stopped in front of the mirror, hearing the sound of bare feet approaching from outside the bathroom.

"Victor, can you help me?" The sound of Yuuri's voice filled up his ears, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"With what, love?" He questioned, keeping his eyes on the reflection of the doorway whilst applying deodorant.

"Which colour do you think wou…"

He saw him come to a standstill, before he even entered the bathroom. Tousled hair, glasses in place. Dressed in nothing but a not completely buttoned shirt and underwear. He looked amazing to him, being slightly flushed. Apparently affected by what he was seeing.

The chuckle came instantly as he turned around to face him. Yuuri was looking forward to the evening too, he gathered. He walked over to him, closing the space between them with a few steps.

"What colour, you said?" He saw him holding on to two neckties and made the connection that he was looking for his advice. "That one," he responded, sliding the burgundy coloured necktie out of Yuuri's grasp. "Put the other one over there." He nodded in the direction of the bathroom countertop.

He followed him with his eyes. Yes, he was blushing. Just a little, just enough for it to become him.

"Come, love. I'll tie it for you." He always did. It was one of those things they never needed to talk about but this time, he felt compelled to.

Yuuri approached and stopped in front of him, his eyes being slightly fidgety. He responded with a little nod.

"Good. Stand here." He lined him up in front of himself, facing the mirror. Feeling him underneath his hands was a sensation he never could get enough of, but he realised he had to pace himself. They had plans.

He folded up the collar of Yuuri's shirt, feeling the back of his neck. Almost looking for imaginary creases in the fabric and smoothing them out with slow touches. He put the necktie over Yuuri's shoulder, as he reached around to button the two remaining buttons that were undone. He could hear him swallow a little when his fingers accidentally skimmed across the small patch of visible skin underneath the neckline.

"There. Let's tie this for you, hm?" He reeled in the tie before placing it around Yuuri's neck. "Love, eyes in front. You'll never learn if you look at me."

He caught his eye, just briefly, in the mirror before he pretended to look at his hands as he tied the knot. He knew that Yuuri was fully aware of the fact that he could knot a tie in his sleep, but he wanted to see where he was. What he was thinking. If he was observant and paid attention to the tie or… well, him.

"Victor? That's not how you do it. The Windsor."

"Oh? I didn't realise." He smiled, but made sure that it was obscured, hiding his face behind Yuuri's shoulder. Understanding that their little custom had gained a totally different meaning now. "Let's do something else today, then."

He leaned in a little over Yuuri's shoulder, just enough to see his own hands undo the pretended Windsor. "So," he said whilst straightening himself up, meeting Yuuri's gaze in the mirror, "this is a slightly different one. A more complicated one. Make sure that you look, love."

It would take fifteen steps to complete this particular knot, making it look braided once it was done. A slightly eccentric knot, but extremely proper.

"Yuuri, pay attention now. This knot," he said in a low voice directly into Yuuri's ear, his lips brushing the lobe when he spoke, "is called the Eldredge. You take the small end and let it do all the work for you."

He huffed a little in amusement, seeing Yuuri trying to turn his head a little. "Look into the mirror, you're obscuring the view." He gave Yuuri's head a small nudge with his own, exhaling a little against his neck. The little gasp was payment enough.

He let his hands rest on his shoulders for a few seconds before he folded down, or caressed, rather, the collar of the shirt. Taking his time.

"There. All done. It's perfect, just like you."

* * *

Yuuri didn't know how to respond. He met his eyes in the mirror, feeling his hands on his shoulders. Trying to ignore his slightly elevated pulse, his clammy hands. Victor had that effect on him, always. Especially when being fresh out of the shower, not wearing anything more than a towel and getting close on purpose.

"Thank you," he managed to say, seeing Victor smile behind him.

"Don't mention it, I enjoyed it. Just as much as you."

Yuuri smiled a little in response, before walking back to the bathroom countertop where he'd put the other tie.

"You know," Victor said behind him, "I think I'll have to shave today. I'm stubbly."

Yuuri forgot about the tie. He turned around and watched Victor reach for his razor and shaving gel. The sound the can made when the gel ended up in Victor's palm made him sure. Determined.

"Victor? I just… I mean, let me help you."

"Hm?"

"I can help you. With that."

It only took a few steps, then he was close to him again. Close to him and his barely covered body. He scraped the dollop of gel out of Victor's hand into one of his own, making sure not to look directly in his eyes as he prepared to touch his neck. Wanting to make sure to apply the gel evenly.

"Tilt your head back."

Victor obliged. It felt like an eternity, though in reality it was nothing more than a couple of seconds, before he dared to touch him. His exposed throat, bared for him. Yuuri wasn't sure, but as his fingers touched Victor's neck, he thought he sensed a pulse. Strumming against his fingers. Victor's own rhythm.

His kept his eyes locked on his neck, making sure to cover every millimetre of skin. The sides, the adam's apple, the jaw… He had to touch his face eventually, let his fingers feel Victor's cheeks getting slick due to the gel.

Their eyes met, it was inevitable. In that moment, it was all Yuuri needed. Seeing Victor's eyes, the smile that engaged them and the rest of his face, made him bold.

"Victor, come." He didn't realise it at the time, but his cheeks weren't hot out of embarrassment. It was due to other feelings entirely. He backed away from him with a finger tugging at the makeshift waistline of the towel. He was happy to notice that Victor didn't brace himself. He was following his lead, being pliant.

When he felt his back against the countertop, he placed himself on top of it with a smooth move.

"Razor, please." He held out his hand, daring to seek contact with those blue eyes he knew was filled with warmth. Adoration. They were level now, their eyes, making it easy for him to see that he was right about the feelings that were conveyed through them.

When he felt the razor touch his palm, he exhaled slightly. "Turn around, okay? I'm going to start with your neck first."

Before Victor turned around, he was rewarded with a little squeeze on one of his thighs and a smile. That smile he knew came from a place within Victor that only he had access to. That smile only he could bring out of him.

"So, lean your head back a little."

He scooted a bit further towards the edge, spreading his legs a little to come a bit closer. He rested his left hand softly on the side of Victor's neck before putting the razor to his skin. He almost jumped when he felt Victor's hands on his knees, feeling the need to reprimand him slightly.

"Don't scare me! I don't want to cut you!" He softened his voice immediately. "Don't move."

He realised that he wasn't precise, being that far away from the mirror, but he tried to feel every patch of skin with his fingers after a glide with the razor. Making sure that he left a smoothness behind. Spending quite a lot of time around the adam's apple, due to the topography. Feeling Victor's pulse, feeling him swallow underneath his fingers made something vibrate inside him.

"Yuuri?"

"Hush, don't talk." He was making it difficult for him on purpose, of that he was sure.

He felt slightly surprised to feel Victor's hand around his wrist, making some of that boldness that previously fueled him diminish slightly.

"Love," Victor said as he turned around, scooping him up with steady hands placed high up on his thighs, "I doubt you can see what you're doing." He turned around and sat himself down on the countertop, releasing Yuuri onto his lap. Resting his hands on his hips. "There. Continue if you please."

Now, his cheeks were scorching. Out of embarrassment. Because of that tell-tale feeling being close to him usually brought on. Because of the emotions those blue eyes always evoked when he was looking at him. The result was that heady sensation he just wanted to succumb to, that he wanted to be a slave to and never question.

But he managed to regain some control, some composure, before he put the razor to Victor's skin again. Trying hard to concentrate on what he was doing, but ending up being held hostage by the blue eyes that were intently watching him, time and time again.

"Stop," he whispered. Diverting his eyes. Trying to break free.

"With what?"

"Stop looking at me like that."

A small chuckle prior to the next retort. "I won't. I like looking at you. You know, you look really concentrated. You have a small frown here." Victor's thumb briefly touched the little spot between his eyebrows. "It's cute."

He couldn't hold back the smile, it was a reflex. An automatic response to the words being used. "Fine. I'm almost done. But you need to be quiet."

He finished the shave by letting the razor glide across Victor's upper lip. He reviewed his work, touching his face, caressing his neck before coming to the conclusion that it was a job well done. Wonderfully smooth, made for… yes. Made for all of that.

"All done." He placed the razor on the countertop next to them before lacing his fingers together behind Victor's neck.

"Thank you, love."

The last syllable became a heady sigh in Victor's throat when Yuuri's lips came to meet his neck. Feeling the slight taste of shaving gel on the tip of his tongue.

"And now," Yuuri said with an unsteady voice, coloured by all of the things breaking through to the surface, "you need some aftershave."

* * *

Victor reluctantly let go. Let go of him, his thighs, his hips. He instantly missed the heat that Yuuri's body had made, being close to him and being on him. It was with a longing he looked at him standing there, on the floor. Just out of reach.

"Go wash your face." Yuuri's voice was soft, imploring. Nothing he could or would say no to.

He slid off the countertop and walked past him. He made sure to let a couple of fingers touch him, just where the shirt ended, below the hem, on his way to the basin. Thoroughly enjoying the little flick of Yuuri's hand on his own.

He chuckled as he washed his face. He liked the little turn of events, the games they played. It looked promising. Made him get lost in thoughts of how he wanted the evening to end, once they were to return home.

"Here."

He felt a warm hand on his back. When he opened his eyes, Yuuri was presenting him with a towel. He accepted it with a smile, with a little touch of Yuuri's cheek. "Thank you." He patted himself dry.

"I… I chose this," Yuuri interjected, twisting the cap off the bottle of aftershave.

He knew instantly which one he'd chosen as the cap came off. That citrusy smell that would end up in a soft musk once dried down. The wood-like basenote that would linger on for hours, a sillage beyond compare. Bleu de Chanel in its essence.

"Excellent choice." He leaned in, rubbed his nose against his.

"I love this smell on you." Yuuri's eyes were closed when he spoke. He opened them as soon as their contact waned, putting some drops of aftershave in his open palm. "It makes you smell like you're mine."

He could decide what gave him that fizzy feeling. The words still lingering in the room, sustained by their warm exhales and the zesty smell, or Yuuri's hands on his face, caressing the skin he'd been taken care of. The skin he'd treated with reverence just a few moments ago. Victor closed his eyes as he felt the alcohol in the aftershave react with his skin. Leaving a cool sensation in the wake of Yuuri's warm hands.

When he felt his hands on both sides of his neck, he opened his eyes. Looking into a pair of brown ones that could make him do anything and not even think twice about it. All he had to do was ask.

He put his elbows on Yuuri's shoulders, pulling his hair back from his face. Letting his hands sift through the dark strands repeatedly. Loving the look and feel of it, the strands of hair falling back into place and slight tickle between his fingers.

"Love?" He stopped moving his hands, having his hair caught between his fingers. Locked in place.

"Mhm?"

"Can't you wear your hair back for me tonight?" He got closer, let his lips speak against his. Touching them with every word. "That look on you…" He let the tip of his tongue touch Yuuri's bottom lip, ever so swiftly. "It makes me crazy."

Yuuri blushed in response.

* * *

The ritual was familiar, one they had partaken in many times. As always, it started with Victor combing through his hair. Warm and deliberate hands touching his temples, gathering up strands upon strands. Fingertips touching his scalp, sending shivers down his neck and spine.

"I'm sorry," he said as he shuddered, holding on to the basin in front of him.

"Don't be. Feels good, hm?"

He saw Victor lean over in the mirror, felt his chest brush against his back, pushing him forward. He was reaching for the jar of hair gel, up on that little shelf where their toothbrushes made each other company.

Their eyes met and they shared a little smile before Victor straightened himself up, unscrewing the lid.

Yuuri watched him in the mirror as he fished out some hair gel with two fingers, rubbed his hands together and pulled them through his hair. His hair stayed in place this time, slicked back from his face. He wasn't as fond of the look as Victor was, but he humored him. Knew what impact it made on him.

Victor shifted a little behind him. It felt like he was flexing his hips into him a bit as he reached for the small jar again, but Yuuri pretended not to notice. Victor took out some more gel, rubbed his hands together anew, and massaged it into the back of his head.

"Looks better if you only use your hands when doing this. More effortless."

After a brief pause, he felt his hands on his shoulders. They were light, barely touching him. Trying not to make the shirt messy, probably. He understood what his hands were saying. They wanted him to turn around. So, he did.

"Oh, look at you." His voice was low. Full of things unspoken. The blue eyes didn't waver. They were steady, looking into his. With a warmth and something more. Something hungry.

He felt embarrassed by this. How he, Yuuri Katsuki, could make him, Victor Nikiforov, sound like that. Look at him like that.

"Victor, stop. We… we should get ready?"

"Yes. We should."

He felt his fingers on his jaw, begging him to tilt his head. He stopped breathing, fearing what would happen if those lips would make contact with his. But he closed his eyes, parted his lips ever so slightly. Prepared for what he was secretly hoping to happen.

The kiss came, but on his cheek. Much to his regret. But he savored the feeling of his lips, the tickle of his hair against the side of his face. The sultry voice, whispered into his ear.

"Go and get dressed. I'll join you in a second."

* * *

The weather left a whole lot to be desired. The soft tip-taps against the window told them as much. But, they were about to get ready. Minutes away from stepping through the front door and off to spend _their_ evening together.

"Yuuri!" Victor called out as he was putting on his coat. "We need to leave if we're going to make it on time!"

"Coming, sorry."

"Here, arms in," Victor said as he helped Yuuri put on his jacket. "We're running a little late but we'll make it."

He opened the door, putting his hand on Yuuri's waist. Telling him to exit before him. He felt surprised when Yuuri stopped after just one step, turning around to face him.

"I, uh…" His hands traced the lapel of his coat before they stopped, holding on to the fabric.

"Yuuri? We need to go." He heard him exhale. One hand let go of the lapel and was suddenly pressed against his chest.

There were a lot of small, almost invisible cues to their little meeting, their wordless exchange, but they were more than enough. Victor understood what they meant, he understood them all perfectly.

With one hand on the back of Yuuri's head, the other pressing into his back, he made him come closer.

Victor had experienced his fair share of kisses. Some had meant more than others, but now, in this moment when Yuuri's lips were against his, he realised something. All those kisses he'd shared before were nothing. Just stops on the way, moments spent looking. With him, being close and tentatively meeting him, he knew he had found the only thing that would ever matter. The only thing that would ever feel right. As their tongues touched, making bridges from one body to the next, he knew he would never find the connection he felt elsewhere.

He uttered something wordless, something soft into his mouth. Weak to his knees, holding on to him.

"Stay in?" Yuuri's voice was thick, heavy from a build-up that they both had taken part in. They had been stringing each other on, leading each other down a path that in retrospect only could end up in one particular way. This way.

He wanted to reply, but he couldn't let go. Couldn't part with those lips he wanted to be sated by so desperately. He was melting into him, and the sound of the door closing made him dissolve. The realisation that he wanted it as much, that he had taken the initiative, was one of the things that could set him ablaze within seconds. He counted the seconds, it was like waiting for lightning to strike. When he felt his arms around him, clambering on with a fervor, he knew that he'd been hit. There was no turning back.

Coat and jacket on the floor, shoes being kicked off as one pushed and one pulled. A heated embrace that made them end up together on the sofa. Like a battle against time, like there was no time left. No time to care about hair slicked back, elaborate tie-knots or lingering scents.

Their plan had come to fruition. In the best possible way.


	18. Bonus: My reflection of you

**Thank you so much for the +25K views on _New beginnings_! I'm so humbled, I really am!**

 **Here's a story about insecurities and how having someone who loves you can make all the difference. Thank you so much for reading and commenting! xoxo**

* * *

He is made for watching. The way he carries himself demands attention. The way he speaks makes heads turn. The way he looks, the way skin and muscles overlap to make the most breathtaking canvas, the most illustrious map, the most elaborate mosaic… Yes, he is indeed made for watching, and of that, he is aware.

Yuuri loves to watch him. There's something comforting, something familiar in doing so, standing silently in a created distance. He's done it for years, _years_ , and now… The unattainable dream, the one that magically came true is his. For he is, he really is his, and he is as real as the the need and want Yuuri's carried within him, for years and _years_ , but never dared to express. That is still something he struggles with, expressing that yearning, because deep down inside, there's doubt still.

On a bad day, Yuuri doubts. Everything he's ever been told, everything he's ever been shown, everything he's ever felt. On a bad day, Yuuri doubts everything he knows about himself, and the worst part of doubting is that _Victor_ knows. For as much as Victor is made for watching, he watches too.

Yuuri feels caught, immediately stricken with guilt when Victor speaks. When his voice conquers the air in the bedroom, travels on it to reach him. There's a tone in his voice that Yuuri doesn't do well with. That sometimes ruthless, teasing tone, the one that more often than not acts as a mortifying epilogue to that low chuckle that paves the way. That tone that barely needs words to make him self-conscious.

"Like what you see?"

It amazes Yuuri how easy it is for Victor. How easy it is for him to express himself. To be in the moment, fully aware. To be nothing but intimidating confidence. Victor is everything he's not, a painful reminder how their opposites never possibly can blend or merge. It's a wonder, how they're defying natural laws. Not acting as each other's reflections at all. Because, really, _why_ is he with him? What does he _see_ in him?

Yuuri swallows. It's the only response he can, consciously or unconsciously, deliver. Because he does. He likes what he sees, but the fact that Victor knows, the fact that he points it out, makes it difficult. It's one of those days, one of those doubtful, debilitating and discouraging days when thoughts come to him easily. Thoughts that converge at a hub, the core of his innate insecurities. Looking at him, it rings even more true. The doubt. Victor is the only person Yuuri knows that can be so uninhibited, so unaffected, be so awkwardly relaxed standing naked. He is different, so very different from himself. By being who he is, he unknowingly cements their impossibilities. Failing to act as a compliment.

The heat creeps up on Yuuri. He knows that his cheeks are gaining colour, that his throat is drying up, that his blood is starting to simmer. But he can't look away. He's never been able to. Whenever he sees Victor, he's drawn to him like a moth to a flame, seeking the most lovely demise, acting purely on instinct and forgetting reason. It's always a battle, sometimes an impossible crusade. A battle between wanting, wanting everything he knows Victor would give him so easily, and the truth of him not deserving any of it.

Victor always laughs at times like this, when Yuuri is conflicted. He always catches on, and although it happens every time, Yuuri still feels surprised. Embarrassed. Ugly. Seeing Victor like this, laughing, naked in their bedroom doesn't do anything for his confidence or his sense of self-worth. Rather the opposite.

"Love, come." Victor extends his hand, like it is a bridge between them. The only unifying thing in their world full of differences.

Yuuri doesn't hear the loving epithet. It gets filtered away, lost on a highway of diffidence. Instead, he hesitates, standing in the doorway. He doesn't really know what he's afraid of, doesn't really know if he should breach the divide by taking that one step over the threshold. The sheepish question just tumbles out, probably just to bide himself some time. To give him a chance to decide. The question is silly because it's obvious, but he can't make it unsaid. "You've showered?"

Victor has an array of smiles. Some are public, easily delivered and available. Victor never shares them with him. Some are reserved for the ones he knows well, sincere and warm. He shares them with Yuuri too, when they have company. But Victor also has a smile that is new to Yuuri, a smile that he never will get used to. It's a smile meant for him. A smile where creases appear in places otherwise smooth, a smile where Victor's eyes mirrors his mouth completely. A smile that he is lavish with when they're alone.

It's that smile he gives him now. With eyes engaged, teeth showing, a soft huff escaping from the depths of him. "So it seems." After a pause, maybe as long as it takes to take a breath, Victor continues. "So that's where that sweater went."

"Iㅡ"

"Don't mind, it's yours now. Yuuri, come here."

Victor still has his hand outreached, still waiting for Yuuri to join him. And for the second time, Yuuri poses another stupid question, one he already knows the answer to. "Aren't you going to put something on?"

Victor's eyes widens in amusement, like his eyes are blown up by the heartbeat, the heartbeat the moment lasts before he counters. Again, in that teasing tone. The one that challenges him in so many ways, no matter the value of the words. "Do you want me to?"

Yuuri doesn't answer Victor's question. Not out loud, not in spoken words. Inside, barely skin deep, he answers. The rush of blood, the ever spreading heat does the talking.

He doesn't want Victor to cover himself. He wants him to know that he wants him to be just like that, that perfect for as long as he's allowed to but inside, the battle still rages on between being worth something and denying oneself everything. But he takes the one step, hesitantly entering the bedroom. He takes another step, swallowing hard. He takes another, feeling a tremble, rippling through him. He takes another, feeling a cool hand squeeze his.

Watching Victor is safe. Standing close to him is not. When Victor is close, Yuuri gets lost. Lost in him, lost in his own insecurities. This time, damp hair, droplets of water on skin and goosebumps lead him astray but not on a road worth venturing. The voice inside faults him, tells him that he's not worth it. That he's not worth what has chosen him.

He doesn't know where to look, what to do. If he should breathe or not, say something or not. A whisper inside him tells him to stop, immediately cease his stupidities but it's so weak, so faint. It gets lost in the cacophony where no, don't, never and why acts as judges and executioners. So, he just looks at a naked chest and its many small irregularities that makes it so real, so desirable. But he does nothing, except looking.

Hands on his shoulders make him flinch and it feels like falling, tumbling down into a vast nothingness where he'll miss too much. He raises his gaze, anxiously seeking something to hold on to, but blue eyes catches him. Makes him stay. It's painful being caught for those blue eyes aren't smiling anymore, they are governed by something else.

Yuuri understands. Yuuri understands that Victor _finally_ understands. He's seen it too. Their differences. How two opposites never can match and make a whole. How a living legend never should give a dime of a dozen-something the time of day. It has taken Victor some time to realise this, but Yuuri's been prepared for longer. He's gone through infinite scenarios, all just as desperate and heart wrenching as this, all ending the exact same way.

Even though Yuuri's prepared he doesn't want to be, but he promised himself that he would never hold Victor back. Victor is a _bora_ , the eastern gust that cannot be tamed and is made to run, created when high and hot meets low and cold only to break free. And that is what is happening now. High has met low and it's time. He understands he wants to go. Maybe, he even needs to.

"Come, stand here."

Yuuri holds his breath when Victor's hands guide him. He closes his eyes, feeling the sting of salty tears underneath his eyelids. But he is pliant, he follows Victor's lead because that is what he has promised himself to do. Seeing how easy he bids him farewell, settling with nothing more than a caress from a wind on the run, will surely make Victor proud.

"Look, Yuuri."

Yuuri doesn't understand, but he feels Victor's breath caress the nape of his neck. The final goodbye from the Russian gale, ready to set off, makes him desperate. He wants to try, he wants to do more for Victor, but that really is what the essence of Yuuri's insecurities. The final conundrum he's never been able to solve. How to do more for someone that is everything?

Slowly, he opens his eyes and stares right back into a pair of brown. Bewildered, he seeks for what he is comfortable with and finds them. The pair of blue are looking right back at him, and now, they are smiling.

"Don't look at _me_ , love. Look at _you_."

Yuuri watches. Watches as Victor's hands move in the full-length mirror, down along his arms. Even though there's fabric in between them, Victor's touch burns. Makes him gasp for air. Yes, hot has met cold andㅡ

"What do you see?" Victor's voice is low, repeatedly interrupted by the soft sounds his lips make when they are touching the back of Yuuri's neck.

Victor's face can't be seen, it's obscured but Yuuri thinks he sees a speck of blue behind him as he desperately tries to make eye contact. He feels insecure, even more so than before, as his mind tries to rally. He wants to give Victor the right answer, he deserves that.

"I-I… I see you and me?"

"Mhm…" Victor croons. "What else?"

"I… I don't know."

"I see," Victor begins, his breath hot against Yuuri's cheek. "Up. Up, love."

Yuuri feels Victor's arms around him before he sees them. He doesn't want to see, not himself, but Victor nudges his head with his own, forces him gently to look straight ahead. When he sees Victor grab the hem of the sweater, his heart stops.

"N-no, Victor. I… I don'tㅡ"

"Oh, but _I_ do. Lift your arms." Victor is quick to correct himself as he bares Yuuri's stomach underneath the sweater. "Please."

If Yuuri felt his cheeks being hot before, they are smoldering now, acting as an opposite to his exposed stomach. It's not desire that makes them flare, makes them feel unbearable. It's the idea of sharing the view with Victor, seeing Victor look at _him_ , that makes them react. Yuuri knows that he is a lot of things, but he's nothing like Victor. He isn't uninhibited, he isn't confident and he's not… beautiful.

Even though Yuuri feels mortified, he apprehensively obliges to Victor's demand without a word and raises his arms above his head. Infinite thoughts run through Yuuri's head, overpowering and smothering, as he feels the sweater travel up, up along his body. He doesn't want this, he realises. He doesn't want to be forced to look at himself, not with Victor standing close, breathing on him, assessing his reactions. But he's torn, he wants to give. Give, give and give so Victor has something to remember him by. Now that he's supposed toㅡ

"Oh. Yuuri…"

He feels Victor catch his glasses before they tumble to the floor, caught in the neckline of Victor's, no, _his_ sweater. He pulls out his hands through the sleeves, and is offered his glasses. Victor's hands aren't cool to the touch anymore.

"You'll need these," Victor says as the glasses change hands, leaning into him.

The sensation of Victor's bare chest pressing against his back makes Yuuri confused. He was sure, so sure that he was ready to let him go. That they both were, but now… it seems different. Something is threatening to move him, shake him, although he remains guarded. Yuuri knows that Victor is fickle, whimsical. A whisper in the lives of many. But he's also an enigma, someone who's impossible to figure out. Yuuri still haven't, even though Victor continuously claims that he's the one who knows him best.

He puts his glasses back on, using both hands. Now he sees. Sees Victor's hands caress his stomach, his sides, his chest. Instantly, something happens inside Yuuri. What the thought to be different before now _feels_ different as he is standing there, enveloped by Victor's chest and hands.

"What do you see," Victor sighs into his neck, his teeth gently scraping the delicate skin.

Yuuri bows his head. He loves the feel of Victor's hands on him, his breath heating him up, those blues eyes never faltering and always meeting him. He _loves Victor_ , but he doesn't know where his feelings fit in Victor's life. Where he fits in Victor's life.

"Is this love?" Yuuri poses the question quietly, briefly meeting Victor's eyes in the mirror before his eyes finds the floor. It's more uncomplicated to do so. To let them stay on something that isn't him, that isn't Victor.

Victor's hands stop. There's no more feeling around over muscles and ribs, no more exploring every groove and curve, no more scorching hands and soothing fingers against Yuuri's exposed skin. Victor's question has a sharpness to it, when it's finally spoken out loud. "What?"

"I-I just…" Yuuri struggles to find the words, the possible explanations. Words being used for the first time does that to him, to explain his feelings is like describing a colour. It's abstract at best, intangible at times and often impossible. "What I'm trying to, or, no… What I'm asking is, um, do… do you love me?"

Victor doesn't ask for Yuuri's eyes in the mirror. Instead, he demands them in person. Yuuri feels charred by that hand on his chin, the one that tilts and turns, commands and positions, locks him in place. But they see each other this way, blue searching for brown and brown whispering every desperate wish ever thought up throughout their history together, hoping that blue listens. Or sees.

Victor is leaning in, meeting Yuuri's turned face over his shoulder. With lips not touching, but so incredibly close, Victor exhales. "I do."

To Yuuri, the kiss feels like how he's seen Victor have his coffee in the morning. The way he nips at the brew not to burn his mouth, just small touches, just small inhales in an indulgent self-preservation. Until he can take a mouthful.

"Look."

When Victor commands, Yuuri complies. He makes eye contact with himself from the corner of his eye, seeing how Victor does the same. Their eyes are narrow, but their mouths are wide. Hot doesn't meet cold anymore, it's all the same, the exact same excruciating heat when they open up and take each other in. When tongues want to touch, when hands are still.

Yuuri feels conflicted when he sees how Victor is watching him. If he was to acknowledge himself, the self doubts would spill over, take him hostage. If he doesn't, Victor could just as well be standing naked behind someone else, deliver languorous caresses and devouring kisses to a stranger. But Yuuri is conflicted, and he never challenges himself then. So he keeps his eyes on Victor, his reflection and tries to retreat within himself, where he doesn't have to watch to see what is being done to him.

When the kiss ends, it's not because it was meant to happen. But it does, it just does. Yuuri retracts, his head full of images of himself being touched, being kissed. All with a fervor he never could have pictured or imagined. Although he's seen it, the desire, he can't understand it. That is why he asks again, with two fingers pressed against Victor's lips, eyes on him but not on the him in the mirror. "Why?"

He doesn't breathe as he waits for the answer. He just relishes that softness against his fingertips, the softness he's prepared to leave behind.

"Why?" Victor's lips moves underneath Yuuri's touch, a hint of a smile against his trembling fingers. "Funny you should ask. I've always been good at show and tell."

That hand commanding Yuuri's chin forces him to look straight ahead. Yuuri's stomach convulses, almost turns itself inside out when his eyes briefly lingers on his own reflection. He senses something from Victor, from _within_ Victor, and Yuuri knows that he can't look upon himself in that context. A context so different from his own, how he sees himself.

"Why I love you," Victor hums in his ear, his eyes studying him, undressing him, seeing right through him, "isn't hard to understand. Look here." With a hand still on Yuuri's chin, Victor pushes Yuuri's hair back with the other, holds it in place.

Yuuri feels Victor's hand, hot against his forehead, his stomach expanding and retracting against his back. He anticipates every intrusion, every slow and reappearing push. He welcomes them, fearing Victor's words more than anything else. It's because words come easy to Victor, just as easy as elongated lines and being in constant motion, and just as uninhibited he is with his body, he is with his words. But the words tend to adhere to him where the movements don't, and that is what terrifies Yuuri. He knows what they do when they are left inside him, so frivolously.

"Behind these eyes, there's this amazing person. The only person I've ever _known_. Someone who, with just a look, can make me do anything. Make me defenseless. I love this someone because not only _can_ I do anything, I _want_ to do anything. For him." Victor sighs, a sound that mirrors the warmth, the contentment in what he just said. "He makes, no, _you_ make me crazy."

Victor releases his chin, his hair. He uses both hands to let his fingers skim over Yuuri's collarbones. "This, my darling, is magical. Your body, the beautiful package to your beautiful being. God, how it feels to touch you here, taste you here…" He exhales, a deep moan riding on the air that escapes out of him.

Yuuri swallows, tries to. The dry warmth of Victor's breath against his cheek, the words that still linger make him parched, make his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. He can't help but feel affected by the sound Victor just made, that low and carnal noise that just… promises so much, something he's not prepared for.

"And here. I love to lick you here, bite you here. See how wonderful you look?" Victor's hands are flush against his chest, a thumb almost nonchalantly circles around one of Yuuri's nipples. "The sound you make when my tongue touches this very spot… Oh, Yuuri… You know what that feels like, don't you? What's not to love?"

"Vi-Victor, Iㅡ"

"Now… _you_ were the one asking, right? Humor me. Listen to my answer. Can you do that for me, my beautiful Yuuri?"

Yuuri averts his eyes, looks to the side instead of at himself. He feels embarrassed, hearing Victor slather on words like that. Feeling his hands on him. Being told to look. It's like the two of them have company, that their intimate exchange is shared by another two sets of eyes. What was meant for them is no longer exclusive, maybe it never was.

"Oh," Victor sighs. Forehead against Yuuri's shoulder, shallow breaths cascading, hands continuously travelling. Feeling every twitch, every groove, every asymmetry. All the external things Yuuri wants to hide, now bared, are being worshipped. "I love you. I really, really do."

Strange, how the words just won't stick.

Victor's hands stop at the waist of Yuuri's jeans. Yuuri's eyes whip back, back to the imperfections. Back to blue eyes veiled by light lashes looking down over his shoulder, wanting to say more, do more. See more. Yuuri tenses up, stops breathing, when Victor's fingers undo the button.

"Okay?"

He's afraid, as he looks down on Victor's waiting hands. They're vibrating. He feels the ticking rush of Victor's pulse against his stomach, wrists resting against him when trembling hands cannot.

With a shiver, one that makes his breath stutter, he puts one arm over his face. He doesn't want to see, but he likes to watch but he doesn't want to be seen. The other hand billows as it touches Victor's, matching their frequency. Yuuri's at a crossroad, at an intersection of choices and he makes one.

"You know, don't you? You know I do? Tell me you know." Victor's voice is thick. It's covering Yuuri's shoulder and chest as it drips and flows, as it's looking for places to seep in. Victor's hands travel downwards now, pushed down by one that isn't his. One that reveals innermost secrets.

Yuuri misses the warmth against his back, longs for it because it was safer. More contained. He peers forth from behind his arm, just enough to see Victor on his heels behind him, legs spread apart on either side of his own. Even though Yuuri only peers, he feels even more. Hands caressing, helping, begging his jeans to slide down and pool at his feet.

Yuuri mewls, shudders to the touch of Victor's hands going down his leg, leaving a molten sensation in their wake. The way his fingers dig into his thigh, brushing against his calf, gripping his ankle…

"W-wait, I don't think Iㅡ"

Victor is sitting now, muscular legs folded underneath himself, a hand around Yuuri's ankle and the other barely touching Yuuri's thigh. Blue eyes meeting his brown from below.

The view in the mirror when Yuuri finally lowers his arm, finally dares to look, sucks the air out of the room. Victor, the man he's always put on a pedestal, the man he's been wanting, the man he's been needing is begging. Begging _him_ to see him, begging _him_ to want him, begging him to show _him_ his love.

It is with a pleading voice Victor speaks. With a voice that awakens Yuuri and makes him realise something new, something that he never thought was possible in their relationship.

"Please. _Please_ , love!"

Victor needs him too.

So when Victor tugs at Yuuri's ankle, he follows his lead and steps out of his jeans. Allows him to kiss his feet. Taste his ankles. Bite his heels. Yuuri is feeling faint when he understands Victor's need spoken through his lips and tongue, languorously and opulently and freely. Watching Victor as he is partaking in a personal journey, a time of worship, Yuuri realises that he is a tethered storm, one that sets its own goals and its own pace. Also, the storm that is Victor has him in his centre. Where it's calm and still.

When Victor gets to his feet, he is welcomed by impatient hands and a longing mouth. Hands that need to touch, that need to grip and a mouth that wants to be filled. Victor smiles and pays his dues, his heart noticeably strumming the strings to his pulse with an intensity. Yuuri feels it, and he loves. Loves, loves and loves everything Victor can ever give him. He loves him, and now, Yuuri knows that he loves him too.

Against his hip, Yuuri feels Victor's other pulse. The one Victor constantly declares he can't do anything about. The one that is life and love united, flattering and uncontrolled, as whimsical as him. The ultimate proof of an at least carnal appreciation.

Victor groans into Yuuri's mouth when it intensifies, and leaves it a second after. He's winded, clambering on to him with fingers digging into his back, his head on Yuuri's shoulder.

"I want you," Victor whispers, his voice pulsating, matching his corporeal need.

"I know."

"You know?" Victor's hands break the divide between bare and clothed as they glide down Yuuri's back, underneath his underwear. His hands are eager, needy, when they are touching and digging in. Trying to reach.

Yuuri glances to his side. Their reflection becomes them, the way Victor's shoulder cradles and obscures. The way they are close, so close, that it's almost impossible to see where they begin and where they end. That's how they begin their days together, and sometimes how they end them, being fused tighter together with every passing sunrise and sunset.

"Do you know when you're the most beautiful, Yuuri? When I love you the most?"

Yuuri shakes his head, and feels yet another pulse.

"When I have showed you and you have showed me what we are together. When you're spent and high. Just after you've come."

Yuuri's body tenses up as on cue, and Victor braces. Holds him still with hands against the sway of his back, pressing him close. Yuuri wants to tell him to let go, but he fears that he'll be misunderstood.

"Oh-hoh," Victor laughs, that teasing tone apparent, before he sucks a kiss away from Yuuri's lips.

Instantly, Yuuri finds himself right back where he started. Where blazing cheeks, wanting but not deserving and disabling insecurities reign supreme. Because Victor watches. Victor _knows._

"Can I?"

Yuuri breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Breathes. "I don't… want to… I don't want to look."

"Please," Victor implores as his hands trail the waistband of Yuuri's underwear, back to front. As his hands stray, lower.

"V-Victㅡ"

" _Please._ " He kisses him once. Twice. The pair of kisses multiply, become infinite as Victor slowly sinks to his knees, leaving an irregular pattern of dissipating heat on Yuuri's chest and stomach. Victor's hands are on Yuuri's hips now, his face is excruciatingly close.

One glance to the side. Victor's caressing him everywhere he isn't needed. Not where it counts. Fingers slowly finding ways to expose even more.

It's a slow process. When Victor wants something, he takes it. But he takes it slow. Painstakingly slow. Yuuri have thought many times that closeness is a game to Victor, that he likes to make people come undone. But in that moment, seeing Victor on his knees, nipping and kissing, slowly uncovering what he wants, Yuuri understands that he's doing it for himself. He savors it, treats it as the first and last time because he is vulnerable too.

When they dressed as equals, Victor doesn't linger. He takes Yuuri in his mouth. Again and again in slow, torturous mouthfuls.

Yuuri makes a low noise. It's a fusion between a cry, set aflame by passion, and a raspy restraint through gritted teeth. His hands panic, they need to find something steady beforeㅡ

It looks amazing. Amazingly vulgar, so deliciously perverted. The image of them, Yuuri hanging on to a fistful of hair, head thrown back and Victor making him disappear with forceful jerks to the fanfare of colliding flesh, makes Yuuri go light-headed. Weak at the knees.

"N-naah! Vi-Victor! Bed! Bed, I'm goingㅡ"

"Only if you look, love. Otherwise, you stand."

"Aah! Aahnn! I-I prohhㅡ"

"You promise?"

"Yes! Yes!"

Yuuri has never thought about that mirror before. The way it is angled. It doesn't show the entire bed, just the foot of it. That's why he's got his upper body hanging freely from it, to make room for someone else. Someone he knows love him, even more than he loves himself.

He loves to watch him. How he moves, how he carries himself, how he looks. He loves him, how everything is easy to him, how uninhibited he is, how free and fickle he is. How he is spreading his legs apart and makes him move with hands on his hips, rocking him into his mouth. How he smiles when he watches him back, when he feels him raise his hips to meet him.

Victor is Yuuri's one true love and he's taught him many things. That they are meant for each other. That feeling passionate about someone never can be a mistake. That no matter how many bad and doubtful days he battles to get through, Victor remains, steady and calm and ready to love him.

But one thing Victor has taught him, one thing so new and so shattering, is something he'd never imagined himself to ever know. He looks fucking beautiful when he comes.


	19. Bonus: What it means to be alive

**Wow, thank you so much for the continuing support! Here's a little something for Halloween, totally unrelated to New Beginnings really, but I couldn't be bothered posting it as a story on its own :) It's a bit on the sad side, of course, but I hope you enjoy it still! xoxo**

* * *

He is nothing but a man. A common man. A man with desires, dreams and principles, just like anyone else. A man with a place to call his own. A man who has seen the world, a man with an open mind and a philanthropic heart.

That was what he'd told them, the unfortunates who asked. They had become quite a few over the years, the unfortunates, and it was always the same. They became drawn to him, always by curiosity or shallow infatuation. Trying to get close, to find out more about him but not knowing what they were to find, once they did. It always ended in an intricate lie, woven and perfected that it almost became true. A discovery lost as soon as it was found.

For the unfortunates aren't allowed to see what he is. Not again. Never again. On the outside, he is cool and perfected. Not tarnished by what he has seen, experienced and done. On the inside, he's full of regrets, longing and desperation. And he carries it with him, has carried it with him, for as long as he can remember.

Before, it had been easier. Before, he saw them as amusing. Before, when he had indeed been nothing but a man, though seeing himself as something more. Something extraordinary, that in the end made him a victim of his own grandiosity. That were lifetimes ago. Lifetimes upon lifetimes, days counting up to months, then years, then decades, then centuries. Oh, how he would love to forget. To remember, to relive it all. To make it all undone.

He raises his head and takes it in. The playground. The hunting ground. Now donned in neon lights, vibrating due to ear-deafening sounds, smells assaulting him as he tries to ignore them. Yes, the place is looking so different since last time.

 _Last time._

A memory flashes by. Even though it couldn't have lasted more than a fraction of a second, he remembers it all. Every excruciating detail is playing on his retinas, makes his brain see the connections. A movie on the inside, made for him and no one else.

It's strange how memories work, he thinks to himself, the fleeting thought doing an annoying lap of victory. Although this particular memory has been gone forever, erased both consciously and unconsciously most probably, he understands that he never had allowed himself to forget. Not entirely. For there's something important in that memory.

He had seen him there, for the first time. And for the first time, he had opened his eyes. Seen possibilities. Making them his by letting himself jump through time. Seeing moment upon moment where it would all just… fit. The possibility of the two of them. Together. But now, the small shacks had become high-rises. The muddy road was paved. The beggars and the whores were still there though; the beggars not asking for money but attention instead, and the whores were just as forward but strangely, not for sale.

He follows the crowd, finds himself close to being caught in the sea of people as it crosses the road. His eyes flickers over the crowd, a whirlpool of heroes, beasts, damsels. Tonight, he tries to be one of them too, and so far, he blends in perfectly without much effort.

His ears are hearing their pulse. The low and dull whisper of blood coursing through veins, a collective sound making him heady. That is where they differ. That sound is what makes them to be seen as being alive. That sound is what creates the divide, why he can never be one of them. For he is a predator in a sea of prey.

And then, despite the cacophony, he hears something else. Something not sounding like the the _woosh_ following the _ba-dum_. It is a noise, a white noise, a frequency wanting to get through. Something calling. No, some _one_. Instantly, he knows that it is what he has been looking for whilst walking the earth, seemingly without plan nor reason. Not knowing if he would get the chance to make that connection, ever again.

He sends out a thought. A question, trying to connect with that frequency.

 _"Are you there?"_

Cars honking, laughs and screams, the city's pulse trying its best to drown it out. After a while, standing with his back against a storefront window, he laughs at himself. It was probably his wishful thinking. His need to relive what he thought he would never have the chance to. How silly.

Whilst a flock of girls, he can't guess people's ages anymore, clambers onto him while a male companion takes a picture, his mind wanders even though it should be focused and razor sharp. Especially now. It's been an eternity, but still, just a minimal dot on the lifeline of humanity when he lastㅡ

 _"I'm here."_

 _"Where?"_ Thoughts are fantastic. They can never ruin anything, reveal your state of mind. They are always your own voice in your own head, calm and collected, even though they happen to be addressing someone else.

 _"Where do you think?"_

He knows.

 _"Stay. Stay this time."_

 _"For a while. I'm about to leave, so hurry."_

And he does. Strange how he still remembers where to go when everything is so vastly different. He runs down streets, crossing others. Rounding corners, diving into alleyways, avoiding people and trying to do the same with the attention he draws to himself.

He knows where to stop but not where to go once he does, for the white noise brings out an image. A flatline. It makes him ask another question.

 _"Up?"_

 _"Up."_

With a slight bend of the knees, he takes off. Not caring if anyone sees him, for this night is made for curious things happening in the eyes of men. His eyes are elsewhere though, looking straight up into the sky, hoping to see something else once he passes the edge of the roof.

Soundlessly, he lands on the ledge. His gaze scanning, seeing through the darkness. Wanting to believe what he has heard inside, what he already knows to be the truth.

"Come out. I said, come out!" He scoffs internally. Thoughts are better. The desperation in his voice makes him feel weak. He is nothing like that, although, with him, it has always been the opposite. That's what seeps out if him, makes him loathe himself just a little bit more.

"I'm here," he hears from across the open space. "The Phantom of the Opera? You are so predictable."

Then he sees what he thought he never would do again.

If he had a heart, it would stop, skip or clench in that moment. There's something that happens when he sees the narrow shoulders he once had held in his hands. Those dark, slanted eyes he'd gazed into for centuries. Those lips that had whispered questions, too many to count, always during the shivering moment when night became dawn, always seeking words of comfort in return.

"You look well," he says simply.

He receives nothing but a smile in return. Up there, the lights of the living almost don't reach them. Nevertheless, he sees a flash of teeth, glinting in the dull light from the veiled moon.

"Have you fed?"

"No."

The answer makes him laugh. Or not really laugh, it's more like a chuckle. Some things never change.

"I've heard they're after you," he continues.

"You're well informed. As always."

"I just listen."

They stand like that for a while. He likes to think that they're watching each other. Assessing each other. Trying to spot differences even though impossible. When not having to think nor worry about trivial things such as time and death, a while can feel brief or never ending but it has never affected them. That much is certain.

"Why," he finally asks. A question long overdue, a question he'd been thinking about off and on for five hundred years or so. Not that he was counting. "Why, Yuuri?"

"I needed to. End it, I mean."

"Why?!"

He's dressed entirely in black, but not dressed up, in heavy materials. It's making him look even smaller. Maybe he is smaller than before, the need to touch to find out becomes unbearable but he strangles it. That, he knows how to.

As he comes closer, that elusive small frame, his feet not making any sounds at all, he just passes him and sits down on the ledge. No touch, not by hands, eyes or mind. His feet are dangling out in the empty space.

Oh, if he had a heart, he would love him. Those eyes, those shoulders, those feet.

"When I first saw you, Victor, I was mesmerized," he hears him speak from below. "You looked like moonlight on the surface of a pitch black lake. Like a swan among crows. Radiant. Glorious. Like the only thing that could save me. It took a while for me to understand that the blackness of the surface was a part of you too. Your feathers weren't pure."

"I asked you a question," he says, annoyed. Not knowing if it's because of his emotions, or the shadows of them rather, are getting the best of him or if... the both if them falling into roles long lost. Forgotten? Despised! "I think you owe me an answer."

Again, a pressing silence. But it feels good, not being alone. Although their interaction is like looking at a reflection, something mirroring something already dysfunctional.

He breaks the silence after a while, the small-framed, black-haired wonder. And when he does, he speaks with a fire. With a resentment. "You took my life!"

This again. Anything but this.

How could two beings, being so close that they were, even sharing the same blood, look upon his greatest achievement, his life's work, his one true passion so differently?

Hearing the fire in the accusation, the one that was true, the one he would never deny, made him flare up as well. "I gave you life! You begged me to!"

"And I asked for you to make it undone! Don't you remember?!"

Of course, he remembered. How it started with the pleading, the bargaining. How it, after the fact, turned into threats and demands. How it ended with violence and brutality. How they had to let each other go, although they were bound to each other through one being the maker and the other, the creation.

"I _wanted_ you," he replied.

"You wanted a plaything. Someone who could walk beside you, not bothered by the leash."

"You. Approached. Me. You seduced me."

"I was interested in you, true. Your beauty. Your knowledge. But I never asked for this. To walk the earth forever, confined in this body, frozen in time. To never see another sunrise. To feed on my fellow man."

"The side of you that you never wanted to let go. You were too good for me. Too human. Too pure. That was always your problem, love."

It sounded so natural, so natural that he didn't even notice it at first. And how could it not, a habit being formed over centuries doesn't die just because someone implores it to. Not when it's the truth, when it always had a purpose. But those dark eyes said everything when they suddenly met him at his level.

 _"Don't. Please."_

He studied him then. Finally, up close. Time could never touch them, that he knew. But their eyes were always colored by what they've seen, or trying not to. So was his, those dark eyes that caught him countless of years ago. Specks of red now fighting with the brown. That was new.

His hair is longer than when he last had his eyes on him, down to his shoulders. Tucked behind his ear on the right side. Still as unruly, still as black. But he looked so frail. So small. So insignificant. With that greyish complexion, one that made his natural colour nothing more than a fleeting memory, it was obvious that he hadn't fed for quite some time.

"Why did you do it?"

The change had happened quite some time ago, when people's minds became open to take in other things. When people became aware of the beings lurking the dark weren't simple imaginary constructs. It all started with him, his resentment towards what he'd become. The stories, the reported sightings, the predators becoming the prey. And now, the disgusting romanticism, people monetizing the mythos of their kind, with a blatant disregard to sacrifices made.

All because of him, that creation of his. Maybe that's his sin, for what he needs to atone. That, and nothing else. For creating him.

"We don't deserve to live. You know that, Victor."

"Is it worth it? Being hunted? Or is it just your messiah complex, your self hatred that drives you?" He lets out a sigh as he shakes his head. To him, the situation is beyond bizarre. "They probably know you're here, having this conversation with me. Not even I can protect you if they come. Though… I would die trying."

"I wouldn't let you."

"You just said that we don't deserve to live."

He notices him avert his eyes only to peer up at him, those specks of red barely visible through the veil the dark lashes make.

"You deserve everything. But not me."

He remembers when they had stood like this once, this close to each other. One emitting heat and the other relishing the fact. One begging to be saved and the other obliging without a second thought. It only happened once. Even though it should have been different, for one of them couldn't be considered to be naive.

"I made you."

"You don't own me."

"I haven't made anyone else," he says, out of breath by the words. This ultimate truth feeling like the most important thing he could ever let escape from the depths of him. "Only you."

Then, it happens. Cold fingertips against his frozen jaw, then a palm adding pressure. Hands removing the mask, dropping it off the ledge. Dark eyes looking into his, into him, burying themselves into what's left. And it feels just like before. Before, when they both enjoyed it, their new eternity forced upon them. When an eternity wasn't enough, could never be enough.

He exhales as he rests his forehead on that shoulder, that shoulder that feels so small but always acted so much stronger than both of his. That's a fact, for he made him, not the other way around. He was the one being left, not the other way around. He was the one being found, not the other way around. He has always been the one begging, he realises. Just not overtly.

And with that epiphany, he does it again. Deprived of shame. Looking into eyes that once was next to his whilst falling asleep and waking up, in a seemingly endless, but all too brief, repeat.

"Let me drip for you. Please, Yuuri. Please."

Those dark eyes widen, and stays that way. Still lost in his. He suddenly remembers something, something forgotten and not for them. How heartbeats felt and the moment is as long as one, but not two, before the dark eyes narrow.

"It… I…"

"Please," he whispers, his lips brushing against his, his fingers lost amidst the sea of black strands.

The small touches spark something, something familiar. Something that feels like a heat, although impossible. Something that feels like coming home. Something that feels like… just like before.

He hears him breathe, accelerated and strained. Feels it too, against his cheek.

"N-no, it's not right. This is not right."

Those are words of self-deception, he thinks to himself. It has never been wrong, not between them. But he's like that, that creation of his. Worrying too much, trying desperately to make them fit into what he considers to be right.

"The wrist. You don't have toㅡ"

He's interrupted by an icy hand on his, the one lost in the darkness of his hair. He can see that he wants, the look is hungry. Famished. Ravenous, when his sleeve gets forced up to his elbow, exposing what once gave him life and ecstasy ever after. But he doesn't give in, not more than having his wrist so close to his mouth that his breath caresses it, that his tongue just momentarily touches it. But he doesn't latch on, he doesn't clamber onto him.

So, he rips himself open. With a quick motion, his wrist is against his own mouth and he bleeds. He feels the smell, the curious smell of his curse and his salvation, as it flows down his hand and ends up on the ground, dripping off his fingertips. It smells of every single one he's ever taken, every single life sustaining his.

The dark eyes widen and the small frame staggers. Just the two odd steps. He's torn, that much is obvious, for he probably doesn't want to be that intimate. Although that's probably the only thing pounding in his ears, the need to get closer.

"Take it," he says, offering himself to him with his arm outstretched, trying to ignore his own reactions that are ravaging him inside. "If they come, you can get away."

The distance is closed between them, and he can only watch as he falls to his knees at his feet. His hair falls over his face, the darkness of it curtaining it, obscuring it. His fingers are touching the small puddle on the ground now, in quiet reverence. Then, his hands beg for his, the one that drips. His pale lips are touching his drenched fingers, his messy palm, all in crimson. He licks his lips. Cleans them, makes him enter him, again and again, but he doesn't take the leap. Except for making noises that makes it seem like he already has.

"Suck," he implores him between the touches those lips make. "Take it. Take me."

The force surprises him when he does. When he indeed takes it, takes him. He's pulled down, and braces himself with his other hand as his knees touches the ground. He's almost on top of him, but he braces. Braces with all he's got because he respects him that much. He knows that he wouldn't want it to be like before, so he tries to be the one in control.

The pain from how he feeds, how insatiable he is, makes him grit his teeth. He feels his nails dig into him as his teeth do the same. It's like being torn apart, the most wonderful pain following the most beautiful sound.

"Victor, Victor, Victor," his voice gargles, calling his name like an incantation.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes. I know, Yuuri. I know," he tries, his breath stuck somewhere in between pleasure and pain. "Empty me, take it, as much as you want."

The sounds he makes, the sight of him, the feel of having him pressed against his pulse… Once, when he was what to be considered as alive, he had his fair share of corporeal unions. They were nothing like this, they can't possibly be compared to this. They were like a warm summer breeze and this, like being carried away by a typhoon. The intensity, the sheer desperation, the carnal need… maybe this is what it means to be alive?

He stops bracing.

He puts his lips to the side of his neck. He smells different now, looks different too. He is inside him, coursing through him. Adding colour to his canvas, once more. He wants to take him too. Take him in, make him leave a dash of colour on him.

He doesn't ask for permission because somewhere, that white noise that will always be theirs and theirs alone, hums in agreement.

When his teeth sink through the delicate skin, rips open the jugular, he tries his best to remember. How it felt to come, when being alive. How it was a race, an expedition to reach the top of that torturous mountain before just throwing oneself over, out into the open. When his teeth sink through the delicate skin, he's already there. He's over, under, in, out, lost, found.

They writhe, wanting the other to be still, to not fight it. They cry, needing to let their rapture express itself, for it's impossible to withhold such a force. They move, because they are hunters, feasting on their prey.

When they let each other loose, when they are sated, emptied and filled anew, they remain entwined. Listening to the other's breathing, feeling him inside.

"You were hungry," he finally sighs into his neck, when he gains dominion over himself.

"You were alone," comes the reply. Simple and to the point, just like him.

"What now?" He props himself up on an elbow and looks down, into eyes where red fights brown.

"You're a mess. I'm all over you."

He laughs at the comment.

"Red has always suited you, Victor," his creation continues. "Something happens with your eyes when you wear red."

"Your red has always been my favorite colour."

"Hm." There's a hint of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

"I still know what yours is."

"Oh?"

"Yes. How could I forget?"

They end up being silent after that, just looking at each other. Observing what they are doing to each other, when they are mixed together inside. Seeing the ramifications as they dance and swirl within.

"I would love to see it, once."

"Your favorite colour?"

He nods solemnly, his dark eyes closing. A tear trickling down his cheek, leaving a trail of maroon in its wake.

"Then… why don't we? See it together, I mean?"

The dark eyes fling open, instantly locked on his. Vibrating as the words make themselves understood inside him.

"You wouㅡ"

"Yes. If I'm with you." He touches his lips with his thumb. "I don't have anything to fear. Not anymore."

"Yes," he finally says, low. Almost inaudibly. "Do we, um… stay here or…?"

"Why not? Do you have somewhere else in mind?"

"No," he laughs, which is strange considering, "this is fine. This is where it started."

"Yes. I knew you would say that. Come, sit up."

It feels like before, when they were new. Having him between his legs, his back pressed against his chest. Arms around that small frame of his, pulling him close. The smell of his black hair and nothing else.

"Are you ready?" The question is unnecessary, he knows that, but he needs to steady himself. Trust his decision. Trust their decision.

"Yes, I am," he replies, his hands squeezing his even tighter.

This is better than before when they could sit like that for hours, watching the moon. This is better, for this is what it means to be alive. Being together with the one you love. Together, watching the sun rise in the east.

 **-the end-**


	20. Bonus: Sand, sea, sky

**It's Yuuri's birthday today. Happy birthday, darling Katsudon!**

* * *

A few hours into the morning of his twenty-fifth birthday, Yuuri dreams of sand, sea and sky.

Throughout his life, he's been accompanied by this very dream. One dream that, as soon as he recognises its themes although he's in deep sleep, calms him. It's something about the feel of it that resounds within him, takes him over. That dream is like an old friend that has evolved with him, adding bits and pieces as he has gotten older, to finally become what he sees on the inside of his eyelids that very night.

The dream always, always, starts the same. The first time he dreamt it, as well as now, he walks on a beach. Nothing ever changes. It's the same beach with the same sand, with the same sky touching the same sea. Creating a two-tone cerulean horizon in the distance. Except for sand, sea and sky, there's nothing else, not at first. But Yuuri knows that if he walks twenty-three steps, for he has counted in the dream throughout the years, he'll meet a bird.

He was around ten when it happened the first time. When he dreamt that dream, when he saw that bird. After those twenty-three steps, he saw it standing on the shore where the sea broke in and kissed the sand and left a dark and saturated divide. The bird seemed unfazed by the water, by its feet sinking down into the sand.

That very first time, he was surprised to see it standing there and not take off. It just looked at him, being maybe five or ten strides away. It looked and looked, without even moving. Without even blinking. That was when Yuuri usually woke up, and that interaction kept on happening for the longest of time, for uncountable nights. Them, looking at each other. But nothing else.

Later, it might have been a year or so after that first interaction with the bird in the dream, a change happened. Bits and pieces adding, creating a longer moment. A more detailed moment. Later, when he was able to get even closer, he could see that although the bird resembled a seagull with its white feathers and gray streaks on the tips of its wings, it had blue eyes. Strange that, for he had never seen eyes that pale in a seagull, they were usually in all different hues in between brown to gold. But never blue.

Later yet, when he as a twelve year old had seen an apparition of silver and blue on a TV-screen, his heart full of emotions high and low due to the fact, he decided for himself that he wanted to skate. He wanted to be just as good, just as ethereal. He wanted them to meet. And again, the dream evolved, with the bird taking flight, but never leaving. Just hovering close to him, even though he continued to walk on, along that beach with the same sand, the same sky, the same sea.

The dream stayed that way for many years, him meeting that bird, feeling its presence and enjoying its company. Feeling calmed by their connection on that beach. Then, he left for the US. Then, the dream evolved again, adding new bits and pieces to what he already saw as familiar and complete.

He remembered when it happened. It was after the very first week in Detroit when he was sleeping alone in an unknown bed, his heart vibrating and missing home, when the bird with the pale eyes appeared and made him feel at ease. Watching him, staying close although he continued towards something he wasn't explicitly searching for. But then, it disappeared, took off up into the sky until it could no longer be seen. Vanishing, almost blending in with that intense blue.

That was when he first saw the dog.

The dog came careering through the wet and dry, sea and sand tossed up into the air by forceful strides and claws. And then, it stopped. Yuuri found it strange that they would just be watching each other too, but that's what they did, keeping a comfortable distance to each other. Sometimes just standing. Sometimes, just sitting. Sometimes, walking side by side but never getting any closer, but always, respecting each other's private space. And continued to do so, until it became official that he, a dime of a dozen figure skater from Japan, had decided to aim for the Grand Prix, at age twenty-four.

Then, the dog took the initiative.

When it finally got close, when it finally did something different from what it had done for years and years, namely always stopping short, he felt his heart swell. When it came running at a breakneck speed, pushing him down in the sand no matter if he was standing, sitting or walking, he laughed. When it showed him the unconditional, heart-bursting love that is a dog's perogative, he hugged it back.

Digging his fingers into that fur for the first time, made him think of what breed it could possibly be. A slender build, made for speed and graceful movements combined with a long and thick coat ranging from white to gray, and again, eyes so blue. He could only marvel at its uniqueness, its unhindered joy to finally meet him. For he had always wanted to meet it too.

And then, he failed. He failed to appreciate all of that he should have reveled in with the loss in the Grand Prix Final.

For months, the gull and the dog never got the chance to meet him. Never got the chance to break through the walls of shame and guilt that continued to plague him, awake or asleep. He missed them, the gull and the dog. But he also missed the grains of sand. The salt of the sea. The never ending blue sky. He thought it was lost to him, that dream. Until one night in April, after an eventful day when his hometown of Hasetsu had been covered in snow.

That was when he met the horse.

The horse was different. Instead of watching, instead of stopping short, it came close. Exhaling warm huffs of air onto his neck and cheek, resting its muzzle on his shoulder within seconds of making eye contact. Sometimes, it was trotting in small circles around him with its neck gracefully arched and its tail high up in the air. It was as if it danced. Danced around him. Danced, only for him. That white horse with its flowing white mane and eyes so blue.

The night after promises were made, then almost broken, then made again, with Victor close to him and sharing the same bed, the gull, the dog and the horse appeared again. The gull, watching, taking flight and staying close until it flew off. The dog, running towards him, stopping for the briefest of moments, then continuing only to knock him over. The horse, begging the dog to leave with a flick of its head, a hoof pawing the ground before it rekindled with him, breathing its life onto him. Dancing only for him in circles tighter than before.

That was then. This very night, a few hours into the morning of his twenty-fifth birthday, Yuuri understands. The horse not only wants to dance _for_ him. It wants to dance _with_ him.

He doesn't know how he got on its back, but when he finds himself on top of it with his thighs slowly enveloping the horse's sides and his hands making fists into its mane, it takes off. And together, they dance. A dance he hopes will never end, for at that moment, in that dream where sea, sand and sky acted as a backdrop, he feels as one.

"Yuuri," he hears the horse say, without words inside his head, "this is what it's supposed to be like!"

"What's that?" he answers with a laugh, not thinking about the unreasonable in his dream, him speaking to a horse.

"I said, this is what it's supposed to be like!"

"Oh?"

"Yes. You and me," the horse says, "finally."

"Finally?"

"Yes! First, I showed you the way. Then, I showed you my love. Now, we can finally be one. Just like this, don't you see? Dancing together, meeting the sea and the sky. This is what's life and love should be like!"

Still feeling the coarseness of the sand, the softness of the sea, the vastness of the sky, he wakes up. He wakes up softly, calmly, like he's being led by the hand into a state of consciousness. And when he opens his eyes, a few hours into his twenty-fifth birthday, the first thing he sees are blue eyes slightly covered by silver hair.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Victor says. "Happy birthday."


	21. Bonus: Roots and wings

**I'm immensely thankful for the continued hits and views (and reviews!) on New beginnings, you have no idea. Here's a little something that's been brewing for a while, I hope you enjoy it!**

 **As always, thank you all so much for your support! xoxo**

* * *

They step through the door together, for the first time complete. There's nothing missing to them now. Although they haven't been able to find that truth inside themselves just yet, let alone say it out loud to each other, the flat in St. Petersburg feels sacred all of a sudden. It's where the rest of their lives will begin.

Yuuri blinks slowly when he kicks off his shoes, heel to toe. He yawns loudly when he takes off his jacket with an almost invisible shrug. He is hit by the wave of exhaustion as he takes the first few steps down the hall, towards the open space that is their combined kitchen and living room. But even though it calls him, it has to wait. The sleeping. Just for a few more hours.

Victor follows him, he hears. Victor, who's been nothing but smiles because they made this journey together only to arrive at this very moment. Victor, who's grown more quiet and focused with every second of getting closer to home. Victor, who now blinks, blinks and blinks, standing in front of the sofa.

"What do I do with the bags?" Yuuri keeps his voice low, afraid that he'll disrupt the muted atmosphere he senses they brought with them as they came through the door.

He doesn't get an answer. Not at first. Victor is sitting down on the sofa, his eyes locked on his hands.

Yuuri doesn't blame him. He knows that no matter how important this moment is to him, it's even more important to Victor. It's an understanding that he's been trying to accept and although it initially makes him feel not as invested, he knows it's not the truth. Victor's just… so much more. In everything he does.

"Victor? _Vitya_?"

The word of endearment breaks the spell Victor is under, and he replies, just as low. "Hm? Oh, sorry."

"The bags? Do Iㅡ"

"Just put them in the bedroom, love. We can unpack them later. Tomorrow."

"I can do it now," Yuuri replies, knowing that Victor wants to keep it tidy. Especially now. "I don't mind," he adds, because it's the truth, brought on by the feeling that Victor needs at least a moment alone. To adjust. To allow it all to sink in.

"No, it's fine. We'll do it tomorrow. Don't bother."

Yuuri hums his response and looks at Victor from where he stands, just shy of the doorway to the bedroom. Victor's back is slightly hunched, his shoulders drooping as they relax. Victor's caught by the spell anew, it seems, which makes Yuuri see an opportunity to rest, _finally_.

"Is it okay if I rest a bit? You should too, you know. It's been a long trip."

When the answer comes, albeit delayed, it's exactly what Yuuri expected it to be. Breathless, proud, loving. All of the things that sums Victor up perfectly.

"Go ahead. I'll… I'll sit up just for a while longer."

Yuuri feels his face respond automatically with a smile, one that Victor doesn't see, as he turns around to leave their bags on the floor of the bedroom. _Of course he'll stay up,_ Yuuri thinks to himself as he pulls off his sweater and the t-shirt underneath it, feeling the traveller's smell with a slight disgust. _It's been his plan all along, most probably._

He catches a glimpse of Victor again, as he prepares to close the bedroom door. Something compels him to get close, which he does on inaudible feet.

"Can I get you anything?" He whispers this, his lips softly touching Victor's ear. "Or are you happy the way you are?"

Victor huffs then, that little sound that Yuuri knows means a million things. A million things depending on the situation, the setting, the feel. Right now, Yuuri knows the answer. Victor is indeed happy the way he is, happy doesn't even begin to describe him, but he'll humor him and ask him for something simple.

"A cup of coffee would be nice," Victor smiles. Those blue eyes are narrow when they look into his, his mouth is having that peculiar shape it has when he smiles directly from the heart. Then, and only then. The smile Victor's never shared with anyone else but him.

Yuuri leans in a bit more, kisses Victor's temple and thinks to himself, _I knew you would say that,_ before he walks off towards the kitchen and fulfills Victor's request.

"Here," Yuuri says upon returning, placing the gargantuan cup on the coffee table, "wake me up if you… no, forget it."

"I will, but I don't think it'll be necessary. Sleep, honey. Don't worry about me."

They share a kiss. One that is a bit too brief for Yuuri's taste, but he settles in knowing that he'll ask for more after his rest.

"Thank you. For today," Victor breathes as they part.

Yuuri's hand lingers against Victor's cheek for a moment, a moment that's longer than the kiss they just ended, feeling Victor's heat seep into his hand. Yuuri want's to thank him too, for choosing him, for continuing to so so. For making their future more and more intertwined.

"We'll make this work, right?" As soon as Yuuri utters the words, he feels stupid. Like there's a possibility to go back now. On any decision, on any road they've walked on together, on this day that made them beyond close. Also, he feels stupid because it sounds like he's not sure, like there's doubt left in him still. He's not hesitant. In fact, he's never been as sure of anything in his life.

"We'll make it work," Victor replies. There's something in his voice, although it's so muted and incredibly soft, that puts an end to any eventual debate.

Yuuri knows better to contest Victor when he's got that tone of voice, so he laughs then, just a syllable, before his hand leaves Victor's cheek. Before he leaves Victor's side and heads for the bedroom. Before he falls asleep within seconds of feeling his head touch the pillow.

 **-xoxo-**

He wakes up with a jolt. It's silent in the bedroom. Dark. Lonely.

He reaches for his phone and sighs when he notices the time. The intended nap became a little more than half a night's sleep. The irritation follows thereafter, eventually settling in shame. Victor was probably just as tired, and here he is with his eyes sandy with sleep, alone in their bed.

When he opens the door to the bedroom, he's almost surprised to see Victor exactly where he left him, roughly five hours ago. Sitting little hunched over on the sofa, his shoulders relaxed.

"You better not be awake," Yuuri breathes, his guilty conscience doing the talking.

As he leans in to see if Victor's awake, his eyes travels over the coffee table. He notices the coffee cup, untouched, on top of it. Victor had indeed been humoring him earlier. But there's more clutter to the coffee table. Victor's mobile phone, the weather-worn puppy that is Victor's first stuffed animal, a couple of emptiedㅡ

"I am," Victor responds in the same low voice, cutting him off in his observations. "I just… got caught."

Yuuri stands silently behind Victor, his hand eventually ends up touching his shoulder. He wonders if Victor has been sitting there, awake, silent in the dark for as long as he's been asleep. He knows he probably has.

"You're making me feel bad," he blurts out, his fingers inching away from Victor's shoulder to end up touching his jaw.

"I'm sorry," Victor replies as he turns his head and kisses the palm of Yuuri's hand. "Don't feel bad. You were tired."

"Aren't you? Do you want me to take her?"

The look Yuuri is met with almost makes him take a step back. There's a fire in Victor's eyes, a blue heated flame, that softens a heartbeat later. Making Yuuri wonder if he ever saw it in the first place.

"No, I… I…"

Seeing Victor's lower lip tremble, his eyes filled with tears that have been waiting to be shed for months, maybe even longer, makes something stir inside Yuuri. So, he whimpers.

"Oh… Victor, please. You're going to make _me_ cry!"

"It's… it's just," Victor begins, tears escaping his eyes, one after another, as he puts his right hand on his chest, "when I look at her, I get this feeling in-inside, you know?"

Yuuri knows what Victor's talking about. He feels the exact same thing, but right then and there, it becomes clear to him that this, everything they share, means so much more to Victor. Because he's never been able to share anything like this before.

"Yuuri, I… you know I love you? I would do _anything_ for you, right? But when I look at her, it's… I mean, I… would do _everything_ for her. I look at her and I feel like…" Victor sniffs a couple of times before he continues. "I can make something of this. My life. I'm more than medals and titles. I never thought… I-I… I never thought that this was for _me_."

Yuuri instinctively embraces Victor, this new Victor he feels beyond curious to get to know. This new Victor with wet cheeks, this new Victor settling against his shoulder when being pulled close.

"Yuuri… I am a _father_. I'm a father now."

"Yes," Yuuri mumbles into Victor's neck, hugging him just a little tighter. "Yes, you are."

They share a silence, one that feels like nothing and everything at the same time. One that might be just as brief heartbeat or as lasting as an eternity. One filled with knowledge of each other, and a slight apprehension of what's to come.

"So," Yuuri sniffs when he eases up, when his cheek ends up touching Victor's, "what do you want to be called?"

"Wh-what?" Victor laughs and blinks, seemingly puzzled by the question.

"I want to be _touchan_. And you? _Papa_?"

Yuuri feels Victor move against his cheek, his head tilts down and just like that, he's lost in the spell again. The spell created by a baby, a little more than a few days old, sleeping on his lap.

" _Papochka,_ " Victor finally answers, his words riding on a vibrating exhale. His eyes seek out the tiny, sleeping face of a child oblivious to the plans being made above her head.

To Yuuri, something clicks inside his head. It feels like Victor's been waiting to say it, to finally make his acquaintance with the word. A word he never thought was for him, to use and heed to. In that moment, that particular understanding, the one shared by him and Victor, is probably the most important thing that has happened during the last twenty-four hours. They are fathers now, a commitment taken on together, and… no matter where they will end up in their relationship, they'll remain just that to the life resting on Victor's lap. For an entire lifetime, until they cease to be.

" _Papochka_? I like it," Yuuri smiles, as he lets Victor free from his embrace. Still remaining close, slowly feeling the same spell threatening to take him over.

But he manages to stay outside it, the bubble created by Victor and their daughter. By doing so, he can observe them. How peaceful she seems to be, her chest heaving being the only thing that separates her from looking like a doll. How he in turn seems completely enthralled, utterly consumed by her mere presence. How content they both seem to be, despite being totally new to each other. How she seems to trust Victor with her life without any hesitation and how easily he meets up her unspoken demand.

Blinking away the blur brought on by being close to them, feeling the impact of that the both of them exude together, he clears his throat before he dares to speak. Hoping that his voice won't sound as weepy as he feels. "Hey, Victor?"

"Mhm?"

"Why don't you come to bed, huh? I don't want to share you all night. If you think that she won't mind." He nods a little in the direction of Victor's lap.

"She won't. She's got the patience of her _touchan_."

"Then come," Yuuri adds, straightening up. Watching in silence, in reverence, as Victor gently lifts the baby from his lap to rest against his chest. The way she almost disappears behind the hands and arms cradling her makes Yuuri utter a noise that resembles both an _aw_ and an _oh_.

Yuuri loves the both of them so utterly, he realises. He loves seeing them like this. And, to think that _this_ just started, their life and love together, how many times he'll be able to see this particular scene and how it will continue to affect him, almost makes him gasp for air.

He waits as Victor passes him, the smallest of glances shared between them, and follows him into the bedroom. Victor goes over to his side of the bed, and stands there for a few seconds. He seems to think about something, maybe even reconsider what they've previously agreed to, before he reluctantly puts the baby in her crib. Yuuri thinks he hears Victor whisper something, something that sounds like a ' _welcome home_ ', although he can't be entirely sure.

"I'm so thankful that she sleeps next to you," Yuuri whispers as he takes off his trousers and dives underneath the covers. "I'm not sure if I'll wake up if she cries."

"You can sleep through a goddamn earthquake. Of course she'll sleep next to me." Victor starts to unbutton his shirt and shrugs it off before he undoes the belt to his trousers. "Yuuri, know what?"

"No?"

"I think we need to change her name."

"Victor, honestly…"

"It's true, though," Victor adds, sliding into bed, "she's not a Kira."

Yuuri sighs and rolls over to his side to face Victor. It was a battle reaching some kind of consensus regarding the name of their daughter. As soon as they knew the sex of the child, they'd started to look for names that worked in both Russian and Japanese. Not an easy feat.

Yuuri can't help the shudder that starts to ripple across his skin when he remembers the heated discussions. "I can't believe we're having this conversation again."

"We can't call her something that doesn't work," Victor responds curtly.

"Can't we have this discussion tomorrow? Or… maybe not at all?"

"Tomorrow, I can agree to," Victor mouths as his hand finds Yuuri's face, effectively calling a truce. For now. "Can you believe that _we_ ended up with _her_? I mean, you and me?"

"I'm sure that if they knew that you decided to change her name after knowing her for a few hours, they would consider me to be the better parent." Yuuri smiles immediately afterwards to take the edge off. "You're amazing, Victor."

Then, the kiss Yuuri's been hungry for finally comes. It's soft at first, when Victor nibbles on his lips, when Victor's hands cups his face, when Victor's breath dances and swirls against his skin. But it builds, the kiss, becomes more urgent and heated with hands starting to travel, when bodies get fired up and close, when tongues suddenly can't keep still and yearns to explore.

"Wa-wait," Yuuri pants, "she's _right there_! I-I, no, I mean, it'sㅡ"

"No, it's not. It's fine, perfectly fine," Victor coos, licking Yuuri's bottom lip. "If she wakes up, I'll see to her. Don't worry. Love, come on…"

Yuuri swallows and holds his breath for a few seconds, afraid that his heart will explode inside him. But when he lets it out, slow and steady, a _yes_ travels on his breath. Because he feels it too. The need to do something, everything, together.

It doesn't take long for them to climb together, brought closer to the culmination of their audience with the help of hands and mouths. Hands and mouths that occasionally tries to shush the other when pleasure suddenly becomes vocal.

Just as Yuuri gets close, when the tension in his abdomen is waiting to be released and take him under, it comes to him. The name. Something that embodies everything he'd ever wanted with Victor, and now, with their child.

" _Mirai_ ," he groans into the side of Victor's neck, as he finally lets go.

A future, unlike any other.


	22. Bonus: The illusion which exalts us, pt1

**As always, thank you so much for reading _New beginnings_ , I am so thankful ;_; **

**Here's a fun little project. I guess you are familiar of the fanfiction concept 5+1, so here's my take on it. This will be in two parts, with the so called "fives" as one chapter and the "+1" in a chapter which I plan to publish next week. Usually, 5+1 stories have a fun blurb to describe them, so here it is:**

 _ **Five times Yuuri and Victor experienced awkward sexual mishaps and the one time they got it all right.**_

 **The title is taken from a quote in _The Hero II_ by Alexandr Pushkin; _"_ _The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us than ten thousand truths"._**

 **Enjoy :) xoxo**

* * *

 **: I :**

It was bliss, in every sense of the word. His heart racing, beating violently in his chest and threatening to break through its confinement of flesh and blood. Their bodies, slippery against each other and scorching to the touch. That smell, that tangy smell, salty with that metallic undertone, the result of their mutual efforts. And, oh, the swirly euphoria he needed to stay in, ride its wave for just a little while longer.

And just like that, his insides started to fizz. Feeling Yuuri's lips against his, against the side of his neck, against his jaw, it started to bubble, only to break out in a giggle. One that made Yuuri catch on, one that started them both to build but in a different context.

Not before long, hands were tangled in the hair of the other. Their mouths gasping for air, just a little further apart than before. Their bodies rocking together in an uneven rhythm.

"Wow," Victor gasped between the laughs, "Yuuri… That was so good. So good, love."

"I just wanted to try it once," Yuuri said, his face buried against the groove of Victor's neck while huffing hot exhales. "I knew you'd like that."

"I _loved_ it. Loved it. The way you just put―"

"No, no, no, stop! I'm glad you liked it but I… kind of..."

"But, Yuuri," Victor whined, "I want to talk to you about it! Why you did that, why the ice cream and what made you lick my―"

Victor became interrupted when Yuuri broke free from his embrace, when Yuuri sat up and straddled his hips, putting a hand over his mouth.

"Not now. Let me take a shower, okay? Then… we _might_ …"

Victor felt that surge again, that small ember that hungered for just a little more kindling in order to light the flame. Feeling Yuuri against him, creating friction in a way that had no other intention than to tease, made him dig his fingers into Yuuri's thigh.

"You're killing me, love. Don't play games."

Watching Yuuri arch his back made Victor bite his lower lip in order to regain some wayward control. Feeling Yuuri grind against him, putting his hands over his head, made Victor shudder as his efforts were tested. Seeing how Yuuri pushed his hair back made Victor moan, relinquishing it completely.

"I'll be back," Yuuri said, a definite promise as he slid off of Victor, with nothing but a glance being cast over his shoulder before he disappeared.

Victor put his hands behind his head and stayed still, held his breath and listened to Yuuri's footsteps, how he opened the bathroom door, and how he finally turned on the shower. Then, Victor exhaled. And with that exhale came a relaxation that led to him closing his eyes, visiting their moment together, watching it again as if he was a voyeur, shamelessly taking part in the act in his own way. Needing the sight of naked skin, open mouths, heads thrown back, again and again in order to…

He must have dozed off, because the sensation surprised him. The sensation of Yuuri's tongue, warm against one of his nipples. How it lapped, teased and purposefully slid over his naked skin, leaving an evaporating heat. An unbelievable tingle multiplying inside him, making his hairs stand on end.

"Oh," Victor exhaled, revelling in the feeling with his eyes closed, his hands still above his head, nothing but taking. "You're not kidding, huh? You're so good to me. So good, Yuuri…"

Victor considered reaching down, to put his fingers in Yuuri's hair and give it a slight pull or, maybe, close his hand around himself to get himself slightly harder, slightly more on the edge, but decided against it. He wanted Yuuri to take command, just like before.

So he breathed through it, breathed through the experience of Yuuri's tongue on him. Rousing him wordlessly

"Nhg… Oh, honey… I love you, just… yeah, like that. Lick me clean, okay?"

The sound, coming from across the room, made him open his eyes.

The surprise made him blanch for in his aroused and muddled state, he couldn't make the pieces fit. Why Yuuri was looking at him, standing naked and wet from his shower in the opening of the door. Not licking his chest with something Victor had thought to be unbridled passion.

So he looked to his left, just the smallest glance, and was met by black eyes and a wet nose. Naturally, his head whipped back within the second.

"Yu-Yuuri! This… Th-this isn't what it looks like!"

"I… I, um, _eeto_ …" Yuuri flushed, mumbling. Looking at nothing but the floor as he silently closed the door. Leaving Victor with not only a dwindling arousal but also, quite a lot to explain.

* * *

 **: II :**

They had been playing the game for what the both of them thought to be the longest time. And they had no intention on stopping.

It started at home with subtle moves, with caresses and hands lingering just a little too long in places that ignite. With soft words spoken against the other's lips, with looks undressing and smiles devouring what had been mentally bared. With unspoken promises and badly disguised desires.

It continued. Naturally. With Victor, his breath hot against Yuuri's neck. His lips brushing the skin behind Yuuri's ear, humming low and appreciative whilst pulling out his chair. His hand, skimming across Yuuri's ass as Yuuri sat down.

It accelerated. As expected. With Yuuri, his feet sliding across the inside of Victor's thigh underneath the table, shortly thereafter. Looking to the side, pretending to observe the people around them whilst executing the smallest push while being concealed by the tablecloth.

It combusted. Obviously. Made them act inappropriately to others but in love to them, being nothing but hands adding pressure, mouths swallowing sighs and moans, eyes taking the other in on the outside whilst seeing something else entirely on the inside. In the back of the taxi, through the lobby of the hotel, in the lift on the way up. Against the walls of the never ending corridor of their floor and finally, _finally_ , inside their room.

They were nothing but animals by then, taken with the magnetism of the other. Constantly returning to the few glimpses of visible skin, fighting relentlessly to reveal more. Tearing into each other, fighting buttons and zippers underneath layers and layers of fabric but barely succeeding.

"You want to, huh? Tell me how," Victor moaned, battling Yuuri's trousers with his hands.

"Yes, yes! I, no, let… let me come inside," Yuuri responded, trying to tear Victor's shirt off his back.

They became almost out of breath, alternately stealing it from the other without thinking twice. Being nothing but a writhing mass of arms and legs, backing up towards the bed with one of them losing his patience considerably.

"Fuck the clothes, baby. Just, just take it out. Take it out!"

"Co-condom then, Vitya? Do we need―"

"No, just let… let me lube you up," Victor growled, sounding like he already was in the middle of what was to come. "Let me get…"

Victor ended up with his back on the bed with Yuuri on top, and did somewhat of a feeble attempt of reaching for the coveted bottle but… he had to get closer. So, he moved with Yuuri still stuck to him. To his mouth, to his hair, but annoyingly not close enough to being stuck further down where his excitement was beginning to become unbearable.

"Yuuri," Victor panted between the kisses, kisses that sucked his mouth dry, "I need to… let me just reach..."

Victor started to pat down the nightstand, if possible even more determined than before, and palmed the bottle as soon as his fingers got in contact with it.

It became chaos after that, of hands actually undoing buttons, zippers and belts. Of trousers not even making it below their knees and underwear being pulled down, just enough.

They stopped in that moment, it was probably just for a second, and looked at each other.

Yuuri, on top of Victor. Glasses lost on the way to the bed, shirt poorly unbuttoned, with tousled hair. With his boxers low enough to show his erection, his eagerness illustrated by its glistening tip. Breathing through his mouth with his fingers turned into claws against Victor's chest.

Victor, looking up at Yuuri. Blue eyes wide in anticipation, shirt almost lost except for a hand still stuck to one of the cuffs, his tie still on. His stomach heaving, almost making him come by the friction created. His fist, clenching the bottle tight.

"Shall… shall I put it on you?" Victor breathed, his voice sounding like an alarm in the now pressing quiet.

"Y-yeah. Then, you turn around and I'll… put some inside you."

Victor got lost in watching Yuuri reveal himself entirely, rubbing himself a little harder. Almost absentmindedly, Victor flicked the cap off and squirted out a generous dollop. And then, he touched him. Slow and purposefully, starting with the base, moving on to the shaft. Caressing and rubbing, enjoying the reaction he felt in his palm. The throbbing, the ever increasing hardness, the way Yuuri told him he was ready without using words. His body reacting to his touch alone.

And finally, the tip. Which produced a flinch at first from Yuuri, but quickly turned into a shriek. One Victor never heard before, one he felt taken aback by. One that made him able to do nothing but stare as Yuuri bared his teeth, started rubbing his now flaccid cock and wailed.

"What did you do?! It burns! What the hell did you do?!"

"L-love," Victor replied, not being able to find an explanation nor words, "what?! Tell me what's wrong!"

"It burns! _Chi-chikushou_! M-my penis! What the hell did you―"

A mutual epiphany if they ever had one, as both their heads turned towards the nightstand. Understanding that they would never put hand sanitizer close to personal lubricant, ever again.

And, naturally, sex became banned from even thinking about. For another week or so.

* * *

 **: III :**

To them, a skating season wasn't only St. Petersburg. It could be Marseille, Stockholm, Toronto or Hong Kong. Propelling them across the world, keeping them in their bubble. Where life on the ice came first, and everything on the outside, second. It was a strange way of going about life, true, but the lives of athletes are seldom simple.

Although, summers meant Hasetsu. Where life could slow down, catch up to them. Make them feel like there was a place they could return to, where they could step outside their bubble and see the world for what it was; uncomplicated when being with the one you've given yourself to.

Or, that's what they wished. For as much as the both of them loved Hasetsu, it wasn't uncomplicated. Especially when being with the one you've given yourself to.

For being in Hasetsu, Yuuri's family home, meant a lack of privacy. People coming and going, things asked of them, adjusting to expected behaviour and cultural cues… Needless to say, the level of spontaneity received a blow with every visit. Something that built a frustration in them.

So when they were in Yuuri's room, in Yuuri's narrow bed, they both felt a pull. A need to give, give and give, but oh, it wasn't uncomplicated. Not at all.

"I know you want to," Victor whispered with his head on Yuuri's lap, reaching down to touch Yuuri's feet on the floor. "We can be quick, you know?"

Yuuri straightened up a little, a sign of embarrassment or badly disguised arousal, and started twirling his finger around a strand of Victor's hair.

"Yeah," Yuuri replied, "but I can't… I can't really relax here. We barely fit in my bed, we can't make any noise and it just feels awkward knowing that… that they're down there."

"Mhm?"

"Whenever I hear them downstairs, it's… no, I just can't. It feels wrong. It takes away the… uh..."

"You don't feel as horny, I get it."

"Victor!"

Victor turned around, that quarter of a rotation, and looked into Yuuri's eyes. Stroking Yuuri's jaw with a finger. "It's been close to three weeks, not counting that thing in the bathroom," he said, with a voice full of longing. "So… what do you think?"

A hint of a smile teased the corner of Yuuri's mouth as he looked down at Victor, making Victor mirror him. Making his face explode into an expression of hope, joy and… well, lust.

"So," Yuuri whispered, "how?"

Within the following second, Victor's hands were on the front Yuuri's jeans. Unbuttoning the button, unzipping the fly and then, hooking a finger underneath the waistband of his underwear.

"Honey, you're already hard," came the appreciative coo. "Sit up just like that, okay?"

Yuuri swallowed as he nodded, his eyes mesmerised by Victor's hand reaching down, hidden underneath his underwear. When he felt Victor touch him, take hold of him, he gasped.

"Oh," Victor reprimanded in a loving voice, "I thought you said you couldn't make any noise."

"Don't be mean. I just… I just want you to, now. You know?"

"I know. Sorry, love," Victor mouthed, his face close to Yuuri's crotch.

"Can you begin? Please?"

Victor huffed a laugh then and pulled down the waistband of Yuuri's underwear with one hand, revealing him with the other. And, just like that, Victor took Yuuri into his mouth. With long and slow movements, his lips adding needed friction and his tongue stroking Yuuri carefully, coaxing Yuuri into relinquishing the control.

"Ahh," Yuuri sighed, his hand finding Victor's hair as he closed his eyes, trying to forget about the worries downstairs. Wanting to follow Victor's lead.

"Like that?" Victor asked, his voice distorted and thick due to his mouth's contents. Taking in as much of Yuuri as he could possibly fit, with his tongue making patterns along Yuuri's length.

"Mmm... god, Vityaah…"

So the pressure, friction and speed was upped as they started to work towards their mutual goal. Yuuri's hips delicately flexing with every mouthful Victor took. Victor's hand pressing into the small of Yuuri's back, asking him to thrust harder.

"I'm close, soon, soon, I think I'm coming," Yuuri moaned with a slight inhibition voice, his head tilted back as he tried to breathe and create that tension needed to create a release.

Victor huffed through his nose and made an appreciative sound low in his throat, whilst sucking harder, faster.

"A second, just a second, almost," Yuuri whispered, his hand becoming a fist in Victor's hair. Feeling close to tipping over the edge. Close to losing himself in that fantastic head-first tumble. "Haah, haah, nghh!"

Yuuri lost his footing, but not to the coveted orgasm. On the contrary. He lost his footing due to him hearing the door to his room open, making his mind sharp. Crystal clear. Hypervigilant. When he saw his mother come through the door, the hand in Victor's hair became more like a vice, digging into Victor's shoulder instead.

Victor didn't hear the door, but he felt the fingers digging into him, making him close to grunting in pain. When he heard the footsteps, he froze. Still with his head on Yuuri's lap. With Yuuri's erection deep inside his mouth. With a laugh uncomfortably close, trying to fight its way around the contents inside his mouth. After all, there was a sense of comedy over the situation.

" _Yuuri,"_ Hiroko chirped as she took maybe two steps into the room, " _didn't you hear me knock?"_

" _N-no, I… I'm sorry,"_ he replied truthfully. For that, he was. " _Wh-what_ ―"

Feeling Victor making some kind of movement around him, around the one part he never wanted his mother to see in any kind of context and especially not this, made him bury his fingernails into the shoulder he was gripping too hard already. That did the trick, for Victor, or his mouth, settled.

" _It's dinnertime,"_ Hiroko said, taking half a step back towards the door. " _Oh, and can you wake Vicchan up too? I've made his favorite, we're having katsudon tonight."_

The sound of the door closing couldn't have come soon enough, making them listen to Hiroko's footsteps growing faint. And for good measure, they waited some seconds more, just to make sure. It was almost like they'd deliberated the situation together and come to the same conclusion, for they both released the other at the same time. Yuuri, easing up on the grip around Victor's shoulder and Victor, letting Yuuri's wayward excitement go with an audible slurp.

"I… I can't believe this is really happening. W-we can't go down there. She knows, oh, no, this… this is so embarrassing," Yuuri mumbled into his hands before lowering them, adding a venomous "Why are you laughing?!"

Victor had his face buried into Yuuri's stomach, his roaring laughter muffled by Yuuri's sweater. Upon hearing Yuuri scold him, he tried to simmer down, which he did but not without an effort. Being out of breath and somewhat dewy-eyed as a result.

"I wish I had seen your face," Victor smiled up at Yuuri, holding Yuuri's hands to prevent a bopping on the head. "Must have been priceless. Oh, what did Hiroko say, by the way?"

Yuuri folded himself at the hip, placing his cheek against Victor's forehead with an exasperated sigh. "It's dinner downstairs."

"Perfect timing! What are we having?"

"Katsudon," Yuuri groaned, feeling Victor shift underneath him. Feeling Victor's smiling lips against his flushed skin.

"A second serving would be nice," Victor whispered, planting kisses on Yuuri's cheek. "After all, it is my favorite."

* * *

 **: IV :**

When being entirely in his head, Yuuri tends to get flustered, nervous. No matter how much Victor would like it to be different, he has realised that he can't always reach Yuuri and boost his confidence. That bothered him, and made him look for solutions. In truth, Victor knew that Yuuri can't handle alcohol well. One glass easily becomes many, and things, inevitably, happen.

He's an enabler, though. Victor loves Yuuri, and there's definitely a special place in his heart for his fiancé's uninhibited self. Yuuri's drunken persona is different, and that is what makes it an adventure. When drunk, Yuuri is loud. Slightly obnoxious. Very spontaneous and… fuelled by a libido set to eleven.

Of course, the latter is Victor's personal favorite. He gladly admits that too, shamelessly enough. So when the Russian skating federation held their annual pre-season party, Yuuri was Victor's plus one. And Yuuri, being somewhat new to the country, the language, the dos and don'ts, was nervous.

Watching Yuuri made Victor think of things reoccurring. The moon's many phases, the ocean's ebb and flow, the return and passing of seasons… simply put, things you know will happen if given time. So, he stayed close to Yuuri throughout the evening. Topping up his glass every now and then but keeping a close eye on him. Covertly making sure that when Yuuri reached his peak, the coveted eleven, they would already be home. Preferably entwined. Undoubtedly naked.

Victor saw the subtle cues, the changes in his Love and Life. How Yuuri began being more outspoken, suddenly not caring about language barriers and possible misunderstandings. How Yuuri continued with taking his suit jacket off, loosening his tie. How Yuuri did that dance Victor had seen on Japanese TV, the one that was all the rage over there but possibly more aimed at girls no older than fourteen than skaters at a black tie-party.

That's when Victor looked at his watch and decided that they have had enough. With a gentle squeeze around Yuuri's shoulders, he broke up the fifth repetition of the dance, leading Yuuri towards the wardrobe with an arm finding its way around his waist.

"Biktoru," Yuuri slurred as he was trying to make his arms go into the sleeves of his coat, "this was fun! _Tanoshikatta desu_!"

"I know," Victor smiled, putting on his own coat after helping Yuuri zip up his, "I saw."

"You know what? Know what, Vitya? You are _my_ coach!"

"I know," Victor replied, "and I love that. So, let's get home."

After waving down a taxi and getting into the backseat, for public transportation wasn't really an option with a rambunctious Yuuri in tow, Victor had Yuuri pushing into him. A hand on his thigh, teeth skimming just above the collar of his shirt, breaths caressing his neck.

"Bikutoru," Yuuri mewled into his ear, the last syllable seemingly never ending, " _shitai._ "

Victor felt a flash of heat, like Yuuri's proposition set him ablaze. He decided to meet him in that, understand where he was.

"Oh," he replied, huffing a muted laugh into Yuuri's hair, "then, what do you want to do?"

"I, I want good, no, make you feel good. _Nandemo ii._ "

"Anything? Did you say anything, love?" Victor felt his pulse ticking on the side of his neck.

"Yes," Yuuri answered, his hand slowly travelling towards Victor's crotch, "anything."

When they eventually got home, after Victor handing over rubles in a way that made the taxi driver look twice, soft words and tentative touches were long forgotten. Yuuri was rambling now, a mix of slurry Japanese interjections and harsh English commands as they headed towards the sofa. The bedroom felt like unsurmountable journey, one Victor was unwilling to start.

When Yuuri toppled, stumbling face down onto the sofa and ended up with the armrest underneath his hips, Victor had to pace himself. The image of Yuuri, with his head low and ass high, made Victor shudder. Made him picture what they would do together, what he would do to him.

So, Victor joined him, put himself on top of him, whilst trying to reach the button of Yuuri's trousers pressed into the fabric of the sofa. Counterproductive, if anything.

"Okay? It's okay like this?"

" _Un,_ " Yuuri said, trying to turn around underneath Victor's weight, seemingly seeking his mouth. "Okay."

Victor collapsed on Yuuri then, lost in that building anticipation. Lost in that mouth of his that he aligned and tilted, entered with his tongue. The alcohol on Yuuri's breath reminded him though, made him change his plans and made him decide on something just as arousing.

"Baby… can, can I fuck between your thighs? Come on your ass?"

"Anything, anything's fine," Yuuri breathed, delightfully open mouthed.

"Take off your trousers, okay," Victor said as he propped himself up on his arms and pushed himself off the sofa. "I'll go get stuff."

Victor headed into the bathroom first, searched the cabinet under the basin. An annoyance washed over him as he headed for the bedroom, reminding Yuuri to take off his clothes as he passed him. Regrettably, after rummaging around their bed, the heat lube clearly wasn't in his nightstand drawer, not in Yuuri's either. Not in the bag that had remained unpacked since their last trip.

As Victor headed for the kitchen, he threw a glance in Yuuri's direction. Yuuri's wiggling ass acted as a panacea, made him calm down a bit and focus. On the countertop, close to the corner made by the fridge, stood his salvation.

He unscrewed the cap of the bottle of olive oil with one hand whilst trying to undo his belt with the other as he approached the sofa, feeling himself aching. Yearning for release.

But alas, things reoccurring only do so after a period of being gone and much to Victor's regret, their moment had waned.

Yuuri, still with his ass angled up in the air, had fallen asleep. Taken by the the aftermath of being on eleven for a little too long.

With a sigh, Victor put the bottle of olive oil on the coffee table and stroked Yuuri's hair.

"Yuuri? Can you go to bed? You're on the sofa."

Upon receiving nothing but heavy breaths in return, Victor took matters in his own hands, feeling like a puppet master. Twisting and turning his lax fiancé until he could pick him up and carry him to the bedroom.

Standing in the shower, considering an orgasm an absolute necessity and working towards making it so, Victor decided that the joke was on him. He would have to find another way to make Yuuri reach eleven. Without the alcohol. Or at least, a little less.

* * *

 **: V :**

When Victor placed his hand at the bend of Yuuri's knee, guiding his legs apart even wider, Yuuri knew that he wouldn't last long. There was something special about that position, being both spooned and filled, that instantly created a tingle inside him. The mere thought of it, how perverted it probably looked from the outside looking in, made Yuuri clench his teeth.

 _Not yet._

He tried to go with Victor's rhythm but Victor was eager, thrusting harder from behind with a breathing to match. Those scorching ' _haah-haah'_ exhaled into his ear made Yuuri desperate to try and go inside himself for a second, think about things. Sad things. Like Vicchan, the embarrassing tumble at the Four Continents' exhibition skate, not making it to Japan for his dad's birthday, losing Victor's leather gloves.

It didn't work. Especially not since Victor had hooked his arm around the back of the leg he previously had been holding on to, his hand reaching around to stroke him to an orgasm. Since Victor bit the lobe of his ear, exchanging the ' _haahs'_ for grunting ' _nghs'_ instead. Since that leg of his was just flopping around with every push Victor made.

Victor was close too, but Yuuri decided that he himself would have to hold on, just for a little while longer. It was better with Victor coming first, for he usually relaxed immediately afterwards. If the roles were reversed with Victor coming second, Victor would just continue and the overstimulation would be too much.

So, Yuuri did what he knew he could do in order to make it so. He put one hand on Victor's, the one that was busy stroking him. He tried to tangle the other up in Victor's hair, pulling at the strands he reached. He searched for Victor's mouth with his own, taking the ' _nghs'_ inside. And, finally, he clenched himself around Victor, as hard as he possibly could, whilst moaning a ' _Vitya'_ against Victor's lips.

It never failed.

Yuuri felt Victor tense up, felt him disappear from being attached to his mouth. Victor was panting against his shoulder, his thrusts getting more and more shallow, his arms and hands tightening until he overflowed with a guttural ' _blyad'_ turning into an elongated, booming ' _aah'._

Yuuri continued his own journey with ease. He moved Victor's hand around himself until he took the same path, spilling over their entwined fingers whilst feeling Victor pull himself out of him.

Then, they breathed through it, the wonder of being spent. The fantastical feeling of being incapacitated to a degree that breathing was actually all they could manage. The knowledge that they could share the vulnerability that comes afterwards, and feeling honored being allowed to.

"I love you," Yuuri heard Victor mumble against the back of his neck. "You will end me."

"I love you too," Yuuri replied, pulling Victor's arms tighter around himself. "Do we need to wipe―"

"No," Victor sighed, "later. I need to rest."

So, they did. Felt themselves being caught, ensnared if you will, by the relaxation that can only follow a corporeal release. Drifting further and further into that blissful oblivion, until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

The morning continued and turned into noon, waking them up with sunlight across their eyelids. After exchanging soft greetings and warm smiles, they headed off to the bathroom for something that could only be described as their own personal post-coital routine.

"Victor," Yuuri said, his head slightly tilted back underneath the showerhead, "did you, uh…"

"What?" Victor's back was lathery, he had done a poor job of rinsing off the shower gel.

"Where did you put the condom?"

"What?"

"The condom?"

Victor turned around as he was shampooing his hair. "Didn't I throw it away? In the bin in the bathroom?"

"No, we fell asleep."

"Maybe I did when we got here, then."

"Don't tell me you left in in bed," Yuuri said, blinking the water out of his eyes. "Find it and throw it away. I'll make breakfast."

"How come you always get to do the fun things, huh?" Victor questioned, and put a dollop of shampoo on Yuuri's nose.

"Because you're an idiot, and you've had your fun. Now, take responsibility," Yuuri said in between the kisses he placed on Victor's chest.

After their shower, they parted. Yuuri went off to the kitchen, and Victor to the bedroom in order to do what they expected of each other.

Breakfast became brunch instead with yoghurt and omelette, rye bread and coffee. But, no Victor returned which made Yuuri go to the bedroom to find him.

"I can't find it," Victor declared, standing in a pile of bedclothes. "I've looked everywhere. Changed those too," he pointed.

"You _really_ need to find it, Victor."

"If you know where to look, then help me," came the the reply, a slight annoyance in Victor's voice.

And so, finding the lost protection became a two person affair, with Yuuri looking through the bed and Victor underneath it. Together, they searched through every nook and cranny underneath and in between the mattresses, the floor and the headboard, hoping to strike the proverbial gold. But alas, no such luck.

When they decided to eat their brunch, now consisting of lukewarm yoghurt and cold coffee, an irritation had sparked between them. Yuuri being annoyed with Victor's carelessness, for it had disgusting consequences,and Victor being infuriated with being second-guessed, like he wasn't telling the truth.

"Listen," Victor finally snapped after some of Yuuri's reprimands, putting his cup on the kitchen island, "maybe you need to look inside yourself a bit! You are not without fault, Yuuri."

Yuuri scoffed, "In this case, I am! You were the one wanting to do it like that and I―"

"Liar, you _begged_ me! What was with the ' _ooh, from behind, Vitya_ ', huh? Huh, Yuuri?"

Yuuri felt his cheeks become heated. He had forgotten, consciously or subconsciously, about that small detail. Maybe he had to take into account that the blame could be shared, look inside himself and―

"No. No, no, no, no, no. Please no," Yuuri exclaimed, standing up. Feeling his heart race, his face combusting of possible embarrassment. Feeling his entire being needing to disappear.

"That's what happened," Victor replied tartly whilst licking his spoon clean. But his demeanor changed when he saw Yuuri, how affected he was from his revelation, and that made him pose the question. "Oh… what's wrong? I'm sorr―"

"Victor… are… a-are you sure you… um…"

"Love, what's wrong?"

Yuuri breathed. Like the repetitive inhales and exhales would grant him some kind of courage, but doing so only made him more anxious, more riled up.

"Hey…" Victor was standing up now, heading his way. Adding to the humiliation.

So Yuuri just decided to say it, to be done with it. Which he did whilst wanting to sink through the floor. "Are you sure you had it on you?! When you pulled out?!"

Victor froze, just for a second, before he put a finger to his lips. Thinking. And when he connected the dots, with his eyes narrowing into a smile, Yuuri wanted to cease existing.

Not before long, they found themselves in the bathroom again. Yuuri, semi-reclining on the toilet seat with his face buried into his hands and Victor, smiling and being reassuring with a finger buried into Yuuri. And just like that, they didn't have to look any further. Not more than, say, seven centimetres in.


	23. Bonus: The illusion which exalts us, pt2

**The smutty conclusion, and it's right, so right :)**

 ** **Thanks so much for reading!****

* * *

The anger that flared up between them is sustained throughout the evening. Even though they don't say anything, for it really doesn't matter if things are said or not when everything unspoken rings loud and clear, they can still feel it. The palpable annoyance that have followed them like an entity on its own.

Normally, their arguments are just like them, passionate, direct and quick. Like a storm more than anything else, but today's different. Today festers inside them, does u-turns and retakes, makes them whipped by something as silly as pride. Makes them stick to what's previously been harshly shared between them, makes them treat it as law despite they, deep down inside, know that truth conquers law.

For that's how it is when being in love, when feelings inside become too much to bear when you realise that you're not being met by the other. When said feelings take another expression when words, uttered or not, just aren't enough to get a point across. When injustice makes you unjust, you end up with silence, one that compulsively forces you to stand your ground until given the chance, or reason, more like, to soften.

It's almost like a dare, how they remain side by side in bed. How they pretend like nothing is the matter, like everything that's been said and done was reasonable beyond compare. How they don't touch but still can feel the other, painfully close but so out of reach. How giving in would create a winner and a loser. It's almost like a dare, how Yuuri turns the pages of his book and allows the dry sound of pages, rubbing against each other, to do his bidding.

But, Victor realises, it's almost like a dare how he behaves too. How he shifts in bed, how he reaches over to grab nothing at his nightstand time and time again, and how that makes the rearrangement of his weight rock Yuuri back and forth on his side of the mattress. Constantly reminding Yuuri, no, telling him that he's there too. That his presence is something Yuuri can't disregard, something he's not allowed to forget.

For some reason that Victor doesn't understand, it's Yuuri who breaks the silence. Not by the low and grating hiss of paper, but with words. "Uncomfortable?" Yuuri asks, and one might think that it's a peace offering finally uttered, but Victor knows that the tone of Yuuri's voice is just as grating, as hissing as the sound of the flipping pages. Yuuri still stands his ground.

"No," Victor replies, flippant and close to glib, his eyes briefly shadowing over Yuuri's figure in the periphery of what he can see without turning his head. But Yuuri is still hiding behind that book, is still showing a tremendous stamina and a pigheadedness. Like in everything he does.

"Lie still, then," comes the reply as another page is turned, as Yuuri shifts a bit himself and pulls himself up ever so slightly. He does so, makes almost invisible movements in bursts until he rests with his back against the headboard, his knees slightly bent and feet firmly placed on the mattress. Oh, so stubborn they both are.

Victor has to distract himself, maybe bite his cheek or let his tongue count the number of teeth in his mouth, in order not to laugh. But on the inside, he does. Inside, he lets out a hearty, belly-aching laugh because he knows that Yuuri just lost. By moving the way he did, by changing position so that he can't be affected by movements around him, by finally acknowledging that Victor is, indeed, there. And knowing that, knowing that he has pierced through that defense he now knows Yuuri agrees to be faulty, his own exasperation just melts away.

Gone is the frustration from earlier, of being scolded like a child in front of everyone. Gone is the frustration that translated into an insatiable need for perfection on the ice when the student in him wouldn't let go, wouldn't allow the coach that's also in him to act professional. Gone are the constant 'again, no that's not right, _again'_ , the 'you do it until you get it right', the 'why the hell aren't you doing what I tell you to', and finally, the 'that's it, lesson's over'.

And, as the edge of unfair resentment gets dulled inside him, the door opens for something else. It's not quite a bad conscience but not far from it, although it takes a playful turn. A challenging turn, if anything.

Victor feels how Yuuri tenses up. It's like he can't decide if he's being tested or not, if he has to ward himself or not, if he has to make a counter-strike or not. Nevertheless, the tension is there when Victor puts his pillow between Yuuri's legs and puts his head on it. Feeling the warmth of Yuuri's thighs frame his face.

The page that turns could be either a display of an impeccable self control or just a ruse, a panicked reaction towards his surprise. Victor knows that, but he bides his time until he hears another page being turned. And another. And another. Then, he touches him.

It's barely a touch, truth be told. The way his knuckle ghosts past the skin on the inside of Yuuri's thigh. The way their heat is shared between them through that heartbeat of a touch, in that connection wanting to be made and actually _is_ , created right then and there. The way he feels a spark by that touch that, seconds later, engages his whole being.

It's barely a touch but Yuuri flinches. Yuuri, always so receptive and tuned to him, feeling his energy like it was his own. Yuuri, always trying to be in control, always so beautiful in the restraints made by himself when conflict rides him winded. Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuㅡ

Another page is turned, sounding mockingly defiant in the silence.

Victor huffs a laugh through his nose. It's so obvious, really, so obvious that it becomes amusing. The power struggle, the need to be the one that has the last say, the blatantly obvious discord between them just turned into something else.

Yuuri hasn't lost, for it has turned into a game. For two, no doubt, but with rules still in the making.

So, when Victor tries to find out, with fingertips resting against the inside of Yuuri's thigh, his tongue tasting the warm and delicate skin, he feels the almost invisible motion. That of legs being spread apart, ever so slightly.

He reasons with himself that words are unwanted here. They would take away what they have managed to restore by being absent. After all, a conversation isn't about words. It's easy to forget that an argument is all about them, but a real heart-to-heart is about… well, everything else. Body language, intonation, facial expressions. Breaths, looks, touches. What you decide to _do_ in a exact moment in time, as an answer to what you in turn were previously offered. Not at all about what you _say_.

Yes, words are not welcome here, not until they really have to make sure.

He nips the inside of Yuuri's thigh. Puts small pieces of skin in between his teeth and lets go, licks to soothe and nips anew. This time, the reaction is something he hears rather than feels, for the thud of the book being put on top of the mattress is so soft that it could have been disregarded for something else, anything else. And now, now that he has Yuuri's undivided attention, he stops.

He stops and breathes. Offers Yuuri to make a move, because it's obvious that he wants to play. The pillow Victor's resting his head on can only conceal so much, but it's there. Yuuri's reaction to him, the just reward for allowing being played with.

The touch makes him forget about all about breathing. The way Yuuri's fingers slide across his collar bones, making the same journey time and time again. Starting from the outside, working their way in, ending at the dip in his throat with a caressing kind of flick. Feathery light, barely there. Teasing, in the same way he tested Yuuri before.

Victor revels in that, the touch. The endless repetitions that tickle him, makes his skin react with a shiver and the uncountable bumps that naturally follow. His breathing suddenly kick starts with a gasp when Yuuri has one hand in his hair and the other flush against his chest. It's slightly embarrassing, knowing that his reactions are picked up by Yuuri's palm, like it's an unhindered highway of information. The way his heart tattles and tells everything Yuuri could possibly want to know by beating harder, faster against that hand placed on top of him. And for once, he might be the one who's flustered.

"What are you doing?" he hears Yuuri whisper, and he's not sure if he's being scolded or teased. Maybe, it's a little bit of both. He can not only hear, but feel Yuuri's smile through his somewhat stern words while the hand in his hair fists and firmly pulls.

"Nothing," he replies, trying to make that tell-tale heart of his to stop betraying him with its crazy accelerated beats by slowly exhaling through his mouth. That's when he realises that his head is being tilted back.

Victor wants to look him in the eyes, but at the same time, he's afraid to. What if the magic evaporates between them, what if this moment won't be anything more than something fleeting, shared in passing due to the frustration built? And, oh, to be left like this… this needy, this wanting. Yearning for a continuation in finitum.

But their eyes do meet. His blue accepting Yuuri's brown from above without blinking, as Yuuri removes his glasses. And in that moment, with brown barely moving, just caressing, silently taking blue in, Victor forgets. Victor forgets and marvels when being looked down at and into, when being read like an open book. For those few seconds, for there can't be more than a few even though it feels like time stands still, there's nothing but them.

"Yuuㅡ", Victor begins, cut short by his head falling down onto the mattress, the warmth of Yuuri gone. It takes him a second to understand, to take in that Yuuri has ensnared him, played him, and how incredibly cruel it is. Ruthless, even, to be left like that. To be left with an insatiable… itch.

Just as the surprise of being teased, promised and left starts to wane, morph into something that almost resembles the annoyance from before with a tearing arousal on top, Victor finds him surprised again. He doesn't understand at first since his body reacts before his mind does, but he is left with a dry mouth and a throbbing erection as he frantically tries to piece together what just happened.

The way Yuuri close to slithers down his body, giving him a perfect view of his boxer-clad crotch, makes Victor understand that, yes, he had that, _all of that_ , in his face a few seconds ago. With that realisation, Victor moans.

That moan becomes a low, elongated cry as he feels Yuuri settle next to him. The way Yuuri's hands are touching him, his waist, his hips, his thighs, sends more unspoken promises through his body. Like electric currents they are, those touches, making him hold on to the sheets in self preservation. Makes his hips act disconnected from his mind when they seek out Yuuri's hands, needing the undoing only they can provide.

But Yuuri's cruel, or at least, taking his time. The caresses are teamed up with lips, and Yuuri kisses, bites and licks where his hands won't go. Where Yuuri's hands won't go, his mouth is definitely welcome, but it seems like he acts oblivious to the fact. For he keeps himself shy of being where it really counts, delivering kisses and cold trails of saliva close but... not enough.

Victor clenches his jaw, wondering if he should say something or not, instruct that defiant student of his. He swallows, thinking that he needs to wet his parched mouth, throat and dry lips in order to be able to say something, anything, but to his relief, he finds it to be unnecessary. Yuuri's hands finally touch him on the outside of his underwear. It's almost a hovering touch, two fingertips or so brushing against his scrotum, but it's there. The move Victor's been waiting for Yuuri to make.

The gasp is followed by an involuntary shudder when he feels Yuuri angle his leg with a hand guiding the back of his knee, when he feels Yuuri put his cheek on the inside of his thigh. When he feels Yuuri play with the waistband of his underwear.

Victor's hand is there without him so much as thinking about moving it. He can help, he really can, but Yuuri firmly grabs hold of his wrist and guides it somewhere else, somewhere above waist level.

"Stay," Yuuri commands, and it really is a command that leaves his lips. It's firm, unrelenting, sharp, and as soon as it's gone, so is the grip around Victor's wrist.

Of course, Victor's heart starts to race by hearing that. He's nothing but a man, a man crazy about being told what to do and immediately, the blood that travels downwards through his body makes him hard, ready, dripping with excitement, yearning and expectancy. Victor feels like this is the time it would be acceptable to beg, to make himself small and insignificant in order to make Yuuri do his best, worst, whatever. He just needs him to do _something_ and in that moment of time, Victor is far from proud, far from being stubborn and unfair.

"Shh," he hears Yuuri whisper like he's read his mind, still playing with the waistband of the underwear that really illustrates the divide between salvation and damnation. But Yuuri, oh, that tease, that wonderful fucking tease accompanies the sound with a touch of a toe against his lips and Victor knows that he's lost.

Lost in him, lost to him. What a wonderful place to be.

In Victor's head, his thoughts becomes a flash flood of words, of English, French and Russian. _Baby, prends-moi, love, milyy, please, je bande pour toi, now, solnyshko, cheri, dorogoi, vite,_ they just flap around but nothing, absolutely nothing comes out. Not until Yuuri reaches down, takes him in his hand and frees him.

Victor reacts by arching his back, by digging his fingers into the sheets, by producing a farrago of sounds that doesn't sound like anything comprehensive in any of the languages he knows. But, when Yuuri's lips tighten around him, when he tries to glance down and sees himself disappear into Yuuri's mouth, a mewling, crying _blyad_ echoes in between the walls of the bedroom.

He hears Yuuri hum a little, feels the vibrations resonate inside him before Yuuri lets him go with a perverse sound. A sound sounding slick, full, messy. Wet and full of carnal lust.

"Shh," Yuuri reminds him again, taking his cheek off Victor's thigh just to give him a stern look before the cycle starts anew. Before he downs him, adds pressure and friction whilst taking it slow.

"I-I can't, pause, please, stop," Victor manages to whine, suddenly feeling Yuuri's foot bracing, digging into his side. The slightly cool toes playing against his ribs. "I-it's too soon, wait! I don't want to come!"

Lucky for him, his student usually does what he's told. This time is no exception, and Victor finds his wish is fulfilled with a sigh and a slurp.

"Wh-what the f-fu…", he manages to utter in between his panting breaths, "Yu-Yuuri, wh…"

But Yuuri doesn't respond. He just looks at him, silently, and puts his foot on that close to that fluttering, close to flatlining heart. Draws invisible patterns with a couple of fingers on the inside of his thigh.

Victor realises that Yuuri's on the prowl, patiently waiting until he can finish what has been started. In a way, doing what he's told. Imagine that.

"Do-do you know," Victor says whilst trying both to breathe and swallow at the same time, "how fucking h-hot you are? Huh?!"

Yuuri sighs and breaks the eye contact, looking at something to the side. Still drawing those invisible patterns on the inside of Victor's thigh, still with his foot placed on top of that heart filled to the brim with everything it could ever contain.

"Don't talk," Yuuri finally says, glancing at Victor from the corner of his eye. "I've had enough of you for today."

Victor knows that it's true, that he has overstepped boundaries and has been standing too close to many bridges, match in hand. So, instead of saying anything, instead of potentially making it worse, he puts his hand on Yuuri's foot and rubs it a little with his thumb. He's careful, trying to stay clear of bruises and blisters but still intent on showing that he can, and will, be a student too. For there are things to be taught about each other still, and for that, he's eternally grateful.

"You still..." Yuuri's unfinished question hangs in the air as those pattern-drawing fingers inch closer, closer to the desire that have faded some, become just a little less rigid.

"Yes," Victor whispers as he pulls Yuuri's foot to his lips by the ankle, kissing a few of the toes, "please. It… it won't take long."

For a reason unknown to Victor, Yuuri smiles at the comment. He smiles, and meets his gaze before tentative fingers seek out what Victor desperately needs him to touch, to hold, to rouse.

This time, it starts a little differently. Somewhat slower, but more deliberate. With eyes not looking away, wanting to see every reaction as actions are done to the other. With hands touching more, needing the sparks created between fingertips and skin. With the both of them more calibrated to each other, working together by taking advantage of everything they have to offer each other.

And yes, it doesn't take long. For as earth shattering surprises are with their actions unprepared, intentional and conscious acts offer so much more. And, not before long, Victor finds himself panting against the sole of Yuuri's foot as Yuuri loves him in return with tongue and lips, with warm exhales and strokes, with eyes smiling whenever they manage to catch Victor's gaze.

But to Victor, there's something missing still. The moment they share can be more, so much more. Although he's balancing closer and closer to the edge, he knows that he must offer the same to Yuuri before he falls. It's only fair, considering how he's been treating him. With one hand around Yuuri's ankle and the other trying to find leverage around the back of Yuuri's knee, he pulls him closer.

It doesn't matter that Yuuri loses his footing, the way his lips slips off Victor's tip and greedily tries to reach it again, for it gives Victor just enough time to angle Yuuri's leg in the same way Yuuri angled his. It gives him just enough time to caress Yuuri's boxers down so that he becomes bare. It gives him just enough time to caress, lick and playfully nip at the delicate skin underneath Yuuri's hardening erection, making him just as yearning, just as insatiable. Just as lost.

And together, with hands trying to remain on the hips of the other in order to create a rhythm and mouths offering the sweetest demise, they bring each other closer with every push and pull.

It's Yuuri who falls first, makes that headfirst tumble into blissful oblivion with fingers digging into Victor's hip and thigh. The sound he makes is fantastic to Victor's ears, the way his euphoria wants to come out of him but is hindered by Victor, still in his mouth. That guttural, obscene noise that is a combination of lust both being offered and received.

Victor feels Yuuri's mouth shift around him, how he now is more against Yuuri's cheek than his tongue and how the pressure is unraveling. But, the taste of Yuuri in his mouth as Yuuri pulls out, the frantic breaths that smothers his thigh, the feeling of Yuuri being completely lax and loose against and around him makes him follow Yuuri's lead. With two, maybe three thrusts, he comes, emptying himself between Yuuri's lips while his teeth gently sinks into the flesh of Yuuri's hip.

They remain just so, breathing hard, heads on the thigh of the other. As they start to find their way back, follow the small traces back into their bodies, back into their bedroom, back to St. Petersburg, it's Yuuri who breaks the quiet.

"Victor," Yuuri whispers, as he makes one final effort by heaving and somewhat rolling himself to rest head by head at Victor's side with a grunt, "what was that?"

As he exhales, eyes closed and thinking about what to answer, Victor can still feel the metallic and salty taste of Yuuri still on his lips. He can feel Yuuri brush away sweaty strands from his forehead with vibrating fingers. He can feel his heart still beating fast, making him feel on fire and spent.

"No," he finally sighs, trying to coax his jellified arms to move, to pull Yuuri close, "tomorrow."

"Hm?"

"You've had enough of me for today."

With those words, Victor feels Yuuri settle with an amused huff. Burrowing into him, breathing slower and heavier once he allows himself to be lead by the exhaustion following a lover's high.

 _You know what, love,_ Victor thinks to himself, trying to open his eyes in order to have Yuuri's image as the last thing stuck on his retinas before heading down the same path, _I'll never have enough of you._


	24. Bonus: And what shall I have to dream of

**Long time no see :) Thank you so much for still reading and favoriting _New Beginnings_ , I'm so thankful for your support!**

 **Okay, so. My stories are well-rooted in reality 99,99% of the time, but I wanted do write something based on folk lore and ended up googling a bit. Right about that time, we were blessed with Yuri on Concert, and oh, that image with Victor on the piano... One thing lead to another, and here we have a 12K-word fic based on the Swedish mythological creature, the _Neck_. Don't worry, you'll get it once you've read it through. **

**The competition mentioned is real, and I imagine that the Russian folk song _Kalinka_ was the song being chosen for the occasion. They have sex in this one, of course. Ever heard about Swedish sin?**

 **The title is a quote taken from** **Dostoyevsky's book** _ **White nights.** **"And**_ ** _what shall I have to dream of when I have been so happy in reality beside you"_.**

 **Thank you so, so, so much for reading! xoxo**

* * *

It's a little more than half a season left until Victor's announced retirement when Yuuri notices a change in him. It's not an internal change, Victor is just as present and teasing as ever when they have company, just as loving and hungry when they are alone. No, the change is external, Yuuri realises when they are huddled up in the sofa underneath thick blankets, in their living room of their flat in St. Petersburg, holding onto massive mugs with liquid and steaming contents.

"Victor," Yuuri says after sipping a little tea over the rim of his mug, feeling the miniscule mouthful almost burn the roof of his mouth as he speaks, "are you going to keep it like that? After retirement, I mean?"

Victor blows a little into his mug, seemingly trying to prepare his coffee for what's to come, before he answers with a chuckle. "Why, you don't like it?"

Yuuri knows that Victor is a tease, a seeker of attention in everything between mundane and extraordinary. But more than anything else, Victor is a keen observer. If Yuuri didn't know better, he'd suggest that Victor knows how he'll react even before he does. It's a little like that in that particular moment, because Yuuri knows that Victor knows that he loves it. The length of Victor's hair. How it's beginning to grow long in the back and how his fringe is just a few centimeters shy of growing past his jawline. How it's almost long enough to tie up with slight effort, just long enough to make a small braid out of, at least in the front.

But also, Victor has shown that he knows on numerous occasions before this. By willingly tilting his head back when Yuuri fists his hands in his hair and pulls back when riding him, hungry to hold on to him, hungry for his mouth. He has shown it by relinquishing control when Yuuri has done that, simply allowed Yuuri to have his way.

Yes, Yuuri knows that Victor knows, and therefore he laughs. "No, no," he says between the hahs, feeling some of that annoying, prickling heat tease his ears, "it suits you. I… I kind of think it could be longer."

Victor swallows a little coffee with a smile and replies, "Listen, you little tricophiliac," which is a word they both had to look up in their respective languages after it unexpectedly entered their shared vocabulary in English, "it will never be that long again, not like when I was eighteen."

Victor leans over a bit and puts his mug on the coffee table in front of the sofa, the small clink acting as a enforcing sound to what he just said. "But I agree, " Victor says after the smallest pause. "A little longer would look nice. I could wear it in a ponytail. Or a bun," Victor continues and gathers what he can of his hair and pulls it up, back from his face. "Like this?"

Yuuri's heart does a double, no, triple, no, _quadruple_ take seeing this, because seeing that, Victor pulling his hair back with a small strand escaping his fisted hands at the back of his head, transports him right back to when he was a young teenager himself. A time in his life when he thought that this, a shared flat, shared things, a shared life, a Victor just for him, was wishful thinking at best, a distant dream in truth. Yuuri remembers so well what it was like seeing Victor in those skating magazines, in those glossy fashion spreads where he'd been dressed up to only add to the image of unattainability and luxury. To really sell his image, enforce that _living legend skate god_ -status.

Yuuri also remembers what it was like even earlier than that, before Victor Nikiforov was a _thing_. Once, Victor hadn't been associated with flare and grandeur, although that seems like an impossibility to understand today. Yuuri remembers seeing him on TV whilst sitting next to Yuuko at the Ice Castle. Victor with his long, flowing hair, Victor who had just recently started his first step towards world domination. He remembers thinking that even though Victor wasn't a thing back then, he was his world, as unattainable as the moon. And himself, something that didn't know how to fly.

Yuuri remembers that so well, because that emotion of wanting something so intensely and knowing that it would never come to be, hurt. _Hurts_ , even. Even if he has it all, a flat, things, a life, _Victor_ , he sometimes gets caught up in that. Memories of old, of when wanting and trying never felt enough nor got him any closer to where he wanted to be.

His thoughts are taken by the hand, gathered up in a way only to be dispelled, when he feels Victor's arm around his shoulders. When he feels himself being pulled, his mug coaxed away from his grasp, when he feels himself enclosed in Victor's arms and his cheek resting against Victor's chest.

"Stop that," he hears Victor whisper into his hair, Victor's hands tracing patterns along his back, "you don't have to do that anymore."

Yuuri peers up at Victor from underneath, taken by the surprise-but-still-not-quite, because that's how it is. Victor just knows sometimes. About him not really believing it's true that the both of them are a _we_ , an _us_ , an _I_ in a sense.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri replies, for he really is. It's not uncommon for him to get whisked away by himself, and he wants to spare Victor the effort of pulling him back. He feels that it's a continuous task for Victor, one he'd rather not make him go through, time and time again. He only wishes he could learn that for himself, how to find his way back without Victor's help. Without Victor's, albeit kind, interventions. And again, Yuuri's somewhere else, thinking that once Victor has really retired, he'll probably be doing a whole lot of that. Pulling him back, despite Yuuri's best intentions on making it different.

"Don't be," Victor mumbles, looking down at him. And oh, how magical he looks in that dwindling light with his silver hair framing his bent down face, those blue eyes wide open. Like something from a fairy tale, something ethereal and mysterious all the same.

The magic between them, the eye contact as it were, is broken by Victor adjusting himself on the sofa, reaching for his mug of coffee again.

"Once I've retired," he says, looking out into the nothingness of their dimly lit flat, "let's go somewhere. Somewhere where no one knows us. Just for a few days."

"Sure," Yuuri sighs, but it's a sigh made out of comfort. For he has his head on Victor's lap, and soon, Victor's hair is tickling his cheek as their lips meet a second before their tongues do, with Yuuri thinking that six months is an eternity and plans made by Victor have a high probability to change.

 **-xoxo-**

Victor's last competition was the Euros, held almost a month after the Russian Nationals.

Yuuri's heart swelled after seeing Victor standing in the middle spot on the podium, just like he did at Nationals. For him, his choice had been a given, not competing in Japanese Nationals just to make sure that Victor could wholeheartedly focus on his last few months of his skating career.

Naturally, Victor had fussed and made scenes upon scenes whenever the topic came up during the first six-or-so occasions, for he could indeed coach and be coached at the same time and this time was no different. But, Yuuri knew that Victor knew that he meant well, that his time would come once Victor's came to them both in abundance. Not before long, they settled in their unspoken deal, with Victor being swept away by everything that comes with preparing for the very last time; early mornings, long days and late evenings.

Yuuri couldn't help but feel redundant on a good day and like a bother on a bad one when the both of them were in the middle of it. For no matter how hard he practised, how many hours he put in under the tutelage of his fiancé, competition mode-Victor always did just a little bit more. It wasn't about what Victor did when he was away from all of that was theirs, he knew about all those sacrifices without having to ask about them.

No, it was more about what Victor did when he did come home, when he was all smiles and kisses and hugs with his hair gathered up in a small, messy bun of sorts, smelling of sweat, deodorant, fabric softener. When he cooked dinner, when he had no objections on movie night, when he left notes on the bathroom mirror. Victor gave so much more off the ice than on it, at least in Yuuri's eyes, that he actually felt like the only thing he could possibly to was to go back to Japan until Victor was done for he couldn't stand the energy wasted on him, the energy Victor needed to channel elsewhere.

That feeling, however, is nothing but a memory now. Victor is retired and Yuuri's a skater and a student, not a fellow competitor. It's different now in a way, different from how it was in the beginning for them when Yuuri wanted to do good by Victor but felt held back, for in his mind at the time, Victor shouldn't be coaching him but focus on himself instead. Now, Victor's career is finished as a skater which of course sends jolts of pain through Yuuri's body when he thinks about it, not being able to see the magic created by the person that has enthralled him for close to fifteen years, but he settled in Victor's decision during the months that passed. Having Victor entirely to himself isn't a bad thing.

In fact, it's a wonderful thing now that his own season have ended after Worlds and World Team Trophy, when it's just them. Them, in their own small corner of the world, enjoying the Russian summer in bed. Barely clothed with a fan humming in the corner of the room, blessing them with temporary relief from the heat when it cares to swing their way.

"Yuuri," Victor hums as he strokes Yuuri's thigh with a tickling fingertip, "we're leaving tomorrow. Sorry it took so long."

Yuuri flounders, blinks. Turns his head a little towards Victor and feels the huff of the fan grab his fringe, drop it and grab it anew. He can't say much, and what he eventually does say after a few more drive-bys by the fan is full of unspoken questions, of surprise.

"What?"

The reply is easy just like this version of Victor, retired and without a care in the word, delivered immediately without a second's delay, "We planned this before, don't you remember?"

Yuuri puts his hand on his forehead, as if the gesture will somehow make him remember. As if the hand will keep thoughts in before they escape with a flutter or maybe even the opposite by coaxing them out of hiding, but it doesn't. It doesn't make him remember if he really did agree to something, if he absentmindedly said something in passing or if this proposed agreement is something that comes from Victor's imagination.

For him, the last few months have all been about Victor, not about going anywhere. Not counting the sudden impulse he had of eloping to Japan, of course.

Yuuri sits up somewhat, props himself up on one of his arms and looks down at Victor. Victor smiles, that radiant supernova smile that creates small creases in the corners of his eyes and makes his mouth look particularly appealing. The way he's looking back at him makes Yuuri feel that he actually has forgotten something, that they indeed decided on going somewhere, but he forgets that thought too.

Seeing Victor like that, does that to him.

Yuuri sits up completely, held hostage by what he sees. Victor, sprawled out on his back with his legs wide apart on their white linen bedclothes with nothing but a black, skimpy pair of underwear on. He's mesmerised by how Victor's stomach rises and falls, how a bead of sweat almost ridiculously, tauntingly, rolls down his abs as he exhales. How he's smiling, how he's got one arm behind his head and―

 _Have mercy!_

―how his fingers are all tangled up in his tousled hair, how it just pools over his arm and the pillow underneath.

Yuuri resists the need of adjusting himself, of reducing the chafing feeling between his legs. He finds himself biting his lower lip and looks away. It's because Victor's hair is longer now, it almost reaches his shoulders.

It's difficult for Yuuri not to get caught in that puerile feeling of wanting, of needing, of desiring to sate and soothe. Victor at thirty-one isn't Victor at eighteen, nor is Yuuri at twenty-seven the same as his fourteen year old self but... why does the mere image of Victor like this make him react like he was that awkward, starstruck teenager again, the one who would fit Victor into any conversation, make him seem like the clear-cut answer to any topic, the one who would gaze at his posters, close his eyes and dream that he wasn't the one touching himself in his childhood bed?

After all, Victor at thirty-one is there, in front of him. In their bed, in their bedroom, in their flat. Victor at thirty-one is _his_ and has been for a while already, but for some reason when then and now, together with a hint and a hope of what's to come forcefully collide, it becomes a complicated, entwined mess. One that Yuuri still knows that he's not quite done untangling.

"You forgot," Victor says, but it's without blame in his voice. Without that teasing tone he sometimes puts on. Instead, it's a warm sound that carries those words that escapes his lips and tongue as he sits up, as he brushes a few strands of hair away from Yuuri's forehead.

Yuuri swallows because he figures that he must have forgotten but there's something to that image; seeing Victor come closer with blue eyes veiled by light lashes, lips slightly apart, some of his hair tucked behind one ear, that makes Yuuri remember.

"No," he replies, feeling his eyes close on their own accord, his lips doing the opposite, "I didn't."

Victor tastes of summer.

 **-xoxo-**

They spend three days in Stockholm, days filled of walking close to the water by the docks, seeing the Royal parade, going past the theatre where Bergman, ' _I am death'_ , once worked. Stockholm is nice despite its small city wanting to be bigger-complex, despite how Victor actually stops and thinks before buying clothes and shoes, despite the many unspoken cultural, or are they behavioral, mysteries and clues on how to not be huffed and puffed at in various social situations. Because Swedes, they tend to huff and puff when being forced to deal with something bothersome, like two lovers standing on the wrong side of the metro station's escalator, blocking the way.

They consequently stand to the right after that.

The best thing about Stockholm, though, happens when they blend in and act like the Romans do, or the Swedes in this case. Acting like everyone else makes people not notice _them_. It's strange walking with Victor, how he passes for a local amongst the tall, fair-haired part of the population. That never happens in Japan, and it certainly doesn't happen in Russia. Figure skating doesn't seem to be a big thing in Sweden, and that's something Yuuri has a hard time understanding since the country supposedly is made out of snow during the winter.

Nor does their hand holding and open mouthed kisses seem to be a big thing, either. They are just two people in love, just like any other couple. It's an open city, Stockholm, one that makes Victor relax in Yuuri's eyes. One that makes him more handsy, more affectionate and, if that's even a possibility, more sure.

Yuuri wants to ask him about that over breakfast on their last day. How it's possible that Victor Nikiforov can lose, or at least disregard, his inhibitions while being perfectly sober. To Yuuri's surprise, it's Victor who takes command when they're rallying around the breakfast tray in bed, picking and reaching for the edible bits and bobs.

It's funny, how Victor works. How he declares in a celebratory manner that they have someplace else to be, pulling his hair back from his face as he sips his coffee. It's like he poses a question where he asks for Yuuri's opinion but, and here's the funny part, he's already decided.

Yuuri lets him have that with a barely noticeable sigh, that moment of almost expected surprise. He knew it was coming, the suggestion-turned-command, for Victor had been busy with his phone the night before, talking about a never setting summer sun, moose and nature. And, if Yuuri's not terribly mistaken, Victor did mention something about the Swedish sin too. Although they have yet to experience it for themselves, their hotel room neighbors seem to have embraced the concept wholeheartedly.

Yes, Yuuri sighs before he puts his bowl of _fil_ away, back on the tray. It wasn't quite what he'd expected with its slightly tart and sour taste. It's something that cannot be hidden by sweet breakfast cereal or juicy raspberries no matter how much or many he puts in, and takes a bite of a luxurious sandwich instead.

"Better," he says quietly to himself.

"Yuuri," Victor almost whines, playing with the empty shell of the egg he just ate, "aren't you going to ask where we're going?"

"Will you tell me if I do?" Yuuri softly retorts, knowing very well what the answer will be.

"Well, no," Victor says, his face exploding into that show stopping smile that just keeps on coming more and more often, more and more often without a reason to. "It's a part of the surprise."

Yuuri tries to hide a smile behind the napkin he's patting against the corners of his mouth and says, as deadpanned as he can, "Okay, so… when do we have to leave?"

 **-xoxo-**

"If we start now, we'll make it in time," Victor says after opening the boot of the car. "Put your stuff in, love."

Yuuri puts his duffel bag in the boot next to Victor's enormous hardside, it really is too big a luggage for such a short getaway, and glances a little at Victor in secret. Victor's hair is loose today, freshly washed and therefore, still a little damp at the ends. Yuuri doesn't quite understand why Victor doesn't wear it up, tied back, _something,_ because he keeps raking his hair back from his face before it falls back down. The way Victor's hair acts like mercury between his fingers, soft and light with a life of its own, the repetitive motion he does when he pushes it back… god, even glancing at Victor in secret is torture.

Yuuri clears his throat a little as he closes the door to the boot, trying to make his imagination settle with what he hopes sounds inconspicuous, before he turns away to take a deep breath.

"So," he says, pleased about how indifferent he's managing to sound whilst allowing his eyes to sweep over the parking lot of the car rental agency, "why are you in a shirt and tie today?"

"You know I like to look good," Victor coos somewhere behind him, "and―"

Yuuri almost flinches when he feels Victor close to him, Victor's heat seeping into his back, Victor's breath touching his ear, that kiss that threatens to be placed at the side of his neck. The way Victor's hair smells, feels, looks, when it's tickling his cheek makes him forget how to breathe. If he ever knew how to whilst being close to him in the first place. He's not sure.

"―I know you like it too."

With a wink and a finger put to his lips, flashing by in passing, Victor hops into the SUV. Leaving Yuuri with the sound of the driver seat door closing and a pulse pounding in his ears.

When he finally joins Victor, after finding his breath and stilling his internal rhythm a few seconds later, he finds Victor talking on his phone. He speaks in English, and by the look of Victor's glance and boyish smile, Yuuri understands that he just missed out the important part.

"Hey, you," Victor says, putting the phone in the compartment below the gear lever, "ready?"

"Yes," Yuuri answers, fastening his seat belt. Weighing between asking about Victor's phone call and accepting that he already knows the answer. "Nice car," is what he settles with.

"Audis are nice, love," Victor says as he pushes the key into the ignition and puts the lever into drive. "We should get one."

The sound of the GPS that immediately starts barking commands amuses Yuuri, but he holds his tongue until Victor reaches the E4 and turns on the cruise control.

"In _Russian_ , Victor? Really?"

He gets a glance, just a quick one for Victor's eyes wants to stay on the road. Victor doesn't have to say anything, nor does Yuuri have to ask because sometimes, not often, it's the other way around. Victor knowing that Yuuri knows and they both settle in that.

After all, it's a surprise and surprises are meant to be experienced.

 **-xoxo-**

Their destination is northbound, Yuuri is told, after they've passed fields and fields of rapeseed flowers, not quite an hour after leaving Stockholm. Reaching the countryside, nature, happens quickly in Sweden it seems, and Yuuri can somewhat understand Stockholm's desire to differ from that.

His thoughts come back to his home town, to Hasetsu, where everyone, even the town itself, have accepted that it is what it is. That it won't it be any different. Hasetsu is small, a coastal town as well as Stockholm, but that's where the similarities end. Stockholm is, or tries to, be different. Strange that, in a country where the people seems to conform.

Yuuri's musings are interrupted as Victor lowers the sound on the sound system.

"Hungry?"

"Hm, no," Yuuri replies. "You?"

"No. I just wanted to ask because we won't be there in a while."

Yuuri looks at Victor then. Victor has taken off his sunglasses and has pushed them up on his head. His hair has almost buried them, that avalanche without a care of what could possibly stand in its way, and Yuuri follows a particular strand that has broken free. It coils a little as it finds its way, along Victor's neck, past the collar of his shirt, past the slightly loosened tie, only to settle at the upsidedown triangle of exposed skin that wouldn't show if Victor only had buttoned the two topmost buttons of his shirt.

"I… I love your look today," Yuuri mumbles, his eyes still mesmerised by that lock of hair.

Victor doesn't reply, not with words. He just huffs a small laugh and brings his hand up to Yuuri's face after a fleeting glance, and draws a semicircle with his thumb underneath Yuuri's glasses.

Yuuri closes his eyes, feeling Victor's hand against him. It's warm despite the climate control, it's warm and it's heating up his cheek. He leans into it with a sigh before he turns his head slightly and kisses Victor's palm, feeling his breath circulate around Victor's fingers before it dissipates.

"Oh, Yuuri…"

Feeling Victor's hand disappear from his cheek almost makes Yuuri open his eyes, but that impulse is forgotten when he feels Victor's hand on his thigh, his fingers writing a message into Yuuri's trousers.

Trying to decipher it, feeling the message being written again and again by fingers seeping heat into his skin, branding him with the invisible words, Yuuri feels his eyelids grow heavy. He senses the relaxation, he realises that he's close to falling asleep but… he's not sure if he really does though. The sound of the radio is just as vivid in either state he's in, making it difficult to really ascertain that. He knows he's in that SUV, he knows they're heading north on roads cutting through fields and forests, he knows that they're heading towards something that is supposed to be a secret. But there's still a magical feeling of being unaware and fleeting all around him, one that just won't give.

Take Victor's hand, for example. He thinks it there, still warm against his thigh, with fingers that probably have drawn something close to what can be found in the Sistine Chapel or written something like to _War and Peace_ by now _._ He feels it, the touches, the way Victor's fingers are slowly skimming across the fabric of his trousers but those touches morph. It's like he's being touched by something else, something that is neither hot or cold, liquid or solid, ethereal or tangible. It's like that hand is someone else's but still Victor's, a tingling unfamiliarity to all that is safe and recognisable.

He must have fallen asleep for real, since his eyes fling up within a fraction of a second when the bumps in the narrow, gravel road becomes too massive and manages to rock the SUV back and forth. Just like that, the layered, woven sensation from before is gone and he finds himself in that car, the seat belt digging into his neck a little, something soft and muted coming out from the speakers.

Yuuri whines a little as he stretches out his arms and legs, and ends the procedure with a yawn. He glances a little at the digital clock on the mid console of the SUV, correcting his glasses. Blinking in disbelief.

"Hi, honey," Victor says, now with his sunglasses on, "I bought you a bottle of water." Victor nods a little towards a bottle sitting in a cup holder, it's contents sloshing around inside. "Do you need me to stop somewhere?"

"I-uh…" Yuuri begins, feeling somewhat dazed and confused by being brought out of his sleep in the way he has. By time flown by and still, the unfathomable light outside, despite the time of day. That Victor has actually stopped somewhere and he hasn't even noticed. "Did I sleep for four hours?"

"Close to five," Victor hums.

Yuuri can't see if Victor's looking his way from behind the sunglasses. All he can see is how the shadows and specks of light play across the tinted surfaces of the lenses, a miniature carbon copy of their world caught and reflected back.

"Strange, isn't it? How light it is outside. Stockholm was nothing like this." Yuuri hears Victor say after a small pause. Victor flicks his head back a little as he removes his sunglasses, his hair suddenly billowing down on one side of his neck, and flippantly drops them onto his lap.

"Yes. It's… magical, almost." Yuuri pauses, reaches for the bottle of water Victor bought and unscrews the cap.

After a few mouthfuls, he offers the bottle to Victor who accepts it and drinks the remaining water. There's a small string of saliva running from the opening of the bottle that connects with Victor's lips, a glistening intimate spider web strung together by them both before it breaks. The small bead left on Victor's lower lip makes Yuuri promptly look away, out the window to the side. He never sees the way Victor's tongue makes it disappear.

After a bend, passing through some fields and reliving the sight of more trees flanking the gravel road, the GPS breaks the almost quiet with its Russian command.

"Oh," Victor says, upon turning right, "we're here."

They park their car further down by the side of the road, adding to the caravan of cars already left behind. There are people about, a blend of young and old, generations meeting, and Yuuri can't help but feel the excitement in the air. His body reacts to it, takes it in. He almost finds himself nervous as they cross the road, him and Victor hand in hand, because he recognises the tension. It's similar to what it feels inside him when he waits for his name to be called, seconds before entering the ice.

"What's this?" Yuuri dares to ask, as they walk past a small field and into the woods, following people walking down a well-treaded path.

"You'll see," Victor replies with a softness in his voice, giving his hand a small squeeze. "We're a little late, but I think it's okay."

"Late?" Yuuri parrots, turning his head to look at Victor.

Victor is looking straight ahead, a small smile curling his lips. He has loosened his necktie a bit more, it's almost undone. His hair moves a little in the slight breeze, and he runs his hand, the one not holding Yuuri's, through it to cull the strands that wants to take flight.

"Listen," Victor says then, his hand still holding back his hair on the top of his head, "I need to check something out. Let me buy you something to eat before I do. Okay?"

Yuuri feels slightly ashamed that his stomach answers before he gets around to, and together they find a makeshift coffee shop of sorts a little further down the path. Makeshift is indeed best word that pops into Yuuri's mind, for it's made of nothing but a few thermoses placed on a bench with some baked things on paper plates next to it.

The older woman nods a little as Yuuri reaches for his paper cup filled with coffee, and a small chocolatey ball covered in coconut shavings, and puts Victor's change in a small metal box.

"Okay," Victor says, standing incredibly close, brushing away a strand of hair that has gotten stuck in between Yuuri's glasses and forehead, "I'll be right back, love. Follow the people to down there," Victor cocks his head, "and wait for me. I'll find you. Good?"

"Yeah," Yuuri replies, "but what are yo―"

The kiss takes Yuuri off guard, how Victor's lips meets his with a softness unparallelled. How they nibble at his twice, no, three times before Victor moans, asking for permission to open up Yuuri's mouth with his.

And, Yuuri lets him. He's still holding on to that stupid paper cup, his hand cramping up against it when he feels Victor's tongue gently touch the roof of his mouth, the tips of his own tongue, the inside of his lips. Yuuri's knees weaken, close to buckling underneath him, but Victor's arm is around the small of his back, pressing his hips forward. Supporting him as he steals that kiss away.

If Yuuri could stop time, he would right then and there. He would choose to forever linger, having Victor close, inside his mouth, against him like that. Victor's time, finally becoming his. _Theirs_ in abundance.

It is almost like a déjà vu that makes Yuuri lose his mental footing, for just as quickly as Victor was one with him, he's one with the crowd as Yuuri watches the back of his fiancé disappear into the ever increasing sea of people. Making him wonder if he was imagining things, if he even had Victor that close to begin with. If the touch of his hair really sparked that kiss that allowed Victor to make him melt or if it was something make-believe, a state of being asleep at best.

Yuuri decides to follow the crowd walking down that path that leads a little bit further into the woods. He licks his fingers, that chocolate ball managed to do one hell of a vanishing act once Victor came close and it is nowhere to be found, and smiles a little. Funny, how a small and insignificant thing like that could act like the proof needed to convince himself that, yes, Victor really is his and not a part of his boyhood dreams anymore. Nothing in the world makes him lose his prescription like Victor. Or what he's eating.

The further in Yuuri walks on that small path, the quieter the people around him become. Upon raising his head, he sees people sit on foldable chairs. Some people sit on the ground too, jackets and blankets acting as barriers between naked summer legs and a prickly ground.

Yuuri doesn't sit, though. When he finally comes close, close enough to see better, he stands on a bridge that arches over a stream. He's not quite close enough to look over the ledge of it and down into the water, the wall of people prevents him from coming much closer, but when he listens, he hears a guitar and a male voice singing in what he presumes to be Swedish. Not before long, the singing stops, and the crowd breaks out in an enthusiastic round of applause.

 _Oh... it's some kind of concert, then?_

A speaker voice bounces around in that overcrowded clearing and people shift around, making Yuuri find himself a place close to the ledge without receiving any of the disgruntled Swedish huffs and puffs. A mission accomplished, as it were.

The crowd are coaxed into laughing by that speaker voice. Instead of laughing though, Yuuri hides behind that paper cup to the best of his ability, sipping a little coffee to make himself seem inconspicuous. He feels a little stupid, for a couple of quick glances to his left and right tells him that he's probably the only one there that doesn't understand the joke. Him and Vic―

"― _tor, hela vägen från Ryssland!"_

Yuuri flinches, the way one does when a thought is seemingly heard out loud. He listens, eyes wide, looking around to make sure that he's not imagining things. After all, there's been a lot of that today, of not knowing where the lines are, what makes them blurred and hard to perceive as real.

But the crowd seems to be excited, people turning heads and talking to each other. What was just announced by that speaker voice was something out of the ordinary by their reactions, something that makes Yuuri's thoughts race as thoughts and associations weave a web of possible truths to fit that evening, that to him is already full of preternaturality.

 _You're stupid,_ he reprimands himself inside, _what makes you think he said Victor? Even if he did, Victor is a common name in this part of the world. Also, why would Victo_ ―

Yuuri never manages to finish that thought because further down the stream, maybe twenty paces or so, there's movement. Movement that catches everyone's attention, movement that makes the crowd gasp for air or whoop, he's not sure. There's someone walking out into the stream, slowly and wobbly at first but with gained confidence seconds after.

That's not what makes Yuuri become suspended, make him lose the sense of knowing what's real and not. Nor is it how this someone sits down, head bend down and tucking knees underneath as the water splashes in reaction to being forced to interact, take another route.

No, what makes Yuuri doubt is when the person in the stream runs wet hands through silver hair. When drops of water cascade down the naked, muscular body, now painted with dapples by the golden, never fading sunlight.

He knows who it is. That body, that hair, those movements. He knows because together, they make up what he thinks of as his, a familiarity that creates a longing, a desire, a yearning inside him and yet, there's something indescribable, ethereal, to the apparition that holds court down in the stream. Something new, like he laid eyes on this creature for the first time. And it's calling out to everyone, to him, by its mere presence alone.

He follows the the vision with his eyes as it stands up, walks over to the levee to the right with movements that remind him of hours spent by the barre, flexing and stretching to condition muscles into refinement, creating strength and delicate expression. Every action is an elongated line, an effortlessness hidden behind the power that resides just skin deep, as the presence goes down on one knee. When it stands up, it is dressed in a flower crown made of greens, whites and blues and holds on to a bow and a violin.

It comes closer to the bridge, and perches itself on a rock out in the stream, one foot still in the water and the other bent and placed on the seemingly slippery surface. The violin rests on its shoulder, the bow is close to the strings. From where Yuuri's standing, the view he gets is of the being's back and shoulder, for its face turned away from him, turned to connect with the crowd on the other side of the stream.

A flourish with the bow tells everyone that it's about to begin. The enthrallment, the bewitching of men and women alike. But as the creature takes a deep breath, readying itself to lure and entice, it looks over its shoulder.

Blue eyes, framed by silver hair and flowers just as blue connects with Yuuri's brown. Yuuri lets out a gasp then, for in that small window of acknowledging made of eyes meeting eyes, he finds himself relinquishing the idea that this, the entirety of it, is real. As well as the ' _I love you'_ he thinks he reads on smiling lips before they turn away.

 **-xoxo-**

They find each other, or rather, it's Victor that finds Yuuri up on that bridge.

Yuuri's been standing there, dumbfounded, ever since the last notes from Victor's performance died out, trying to make sense of what he saw. His mind doesn't linger around the fact that he, and everyone else that's been present for that matter, has _seen_ Victor. His mind doesn't seem to mind the image of Victor's naked body on display, using music as an excuse. What Yuuri seems to come back to, almost gravitate towards, is the fact that no matter what, he would have fallen for Victor anyway.

They have already met, which in itself is a wonder he can't even begin to put into words, but he now knows that if they hadn't and the universe and stars would somehow align in their favour and force them together thanks to a miraculous intervention, there wouldn't be a difference. The outcome would be exactly the same. Him, falling for someone with blue eyes, silver hair and the most captivating presence, no matter what setting, what situation, what lifetime.

But those thoughts are redundant now. Victor is his and he is Victor's and it's with a kiss to Yuuri's neck that Victor finally announces his return, a kiss made by cold lips that makes a shiver race across Yuuri's spine.

"Was… was it cold in the water?" Yuuri asks, covering Victor's hands with his own. Victor's nose and lips are nuzzling into the nape of his neck, and Yuuri knows that his question is a stupid one. He just doesn't know what else to say.

"Mhm," Victor hums behind him. " _Freezing_."

Instead of asking yet another question, one that would probably be just a simple 'why did you do that', Yuuri puts one of Victor's hands to his lips. He knows the answer already, he realises.

"So… what now?" he asks instead, turning his head a little.

He feels Victor's hands and arms ease up around his waist, and gives in when they touch his shoulders, asking him to turn around. Yuuri doesn't have to be asked twice.

Victor is still wearing that flower crown, and now that he's close, Yuuri can see bluebells and ferns, twigs of birch, a few stalks of keck, all braided together. Together, they create an amazing contrast, but against the canvas that is Victor's skin and hair… Yuuri tries to focus, intent on looking elsewhere, trying to stay right there and not head off inside his mind's many winding roads, but it's tough. Victor is leaning in now, his blue eyes demanding contact, but Yuuri's eyes dart to the side, then back again to Victor's face.

With a laugh, Victor strands up straight and looks to his side, at the people laughing whilst folding chairs, tidying up, making the clearing seem untouched despite what has taken place there.

Furtively, Yuuri takes Victor in. Victor is dressed now, at least somewhat. His necktie is undone, loose around his neck and he hasn't bothered to button his shirt completely. His trousers hang low on his hips, like he just jumped into them, and Yuuri can't help but smile when he sees that his belt is missing.

"What now, you ask," Yuuri hears Victor croon, and within the second, they gaze into each other's eyes again. Yuuri's pulse starts to tick a little harder as Victor takes one step closer, putting his hands on either side of Yuuri by holding on to the handrail behind him.

"Well… we're taking the flight home tomorrow evening and," Victor breathes against Yuuri's cheek, "that means we need to get back to Stockholm."

Yuuri blinks, feeling the ferns and the birch leaves of Victor's flower crown tickle his skin, acting as the last remnants of the magic threatening to be dispelled.

"Are you going to drive all night?" he asks, and as he is preparing himself to propose that they find someplace to stay, Victor silences him with a finger to the lips.

"We need to get going. Come."

As they walk next to each other, Victor's arm around Yuuri's shoulders and Yuuri's arm around Victor's waist, Yuuri feels questions upon questions bubble up inside him. He wants to know what caused this, this stupid idea to drive more than six hours through Sweden, to make it in time to a competition Yuuri still has no idea what it was about, then promptly drive the hours back so that they can hop on a plane to St. Petersburg later the same evening. He wants to know, because he has a hard time understanding Victor at times. He wants to know, for he has never been with anyone, romantically or otherwise, that just… does things like that. Fully, passionately, like tomorrow doesn't exist.

Those questions become forgotten as they reach the car. It's silly really, how Yuuri reacts when he sees Victor remove the flower crown, but it's with a harsh "What are you doing?!" he calls out, one that makes him forget about things like motives, reasons, whims and ideas.

"I'm throwing it away," Victor replies, holding the floral circle in his hand with a puzzled expression, his motion suspended in mid-air.

"I-uh, no…" Yuuri begins, his hands raised up in front of himself. He's not quite sure why he feels so heated, so convinced that he must prevent that flower crown with its near-wilting bluebells from being thrown away, discarded so easily by his lover's hand. "Can't… can't we keep it?"

He sees Victor opens his mouth, most certainly to argue with his motives, reasons, whims and ideas, but instead of continuing on delivering something that can be anything between cheeky and blunt, Victor smiles.

"You want me to wear it?"

Yuuri hopes that the jolt he feels inside is just that, invisible and something only he can perceive. He feels disabled by it, like Victor's words hit something inside him that just rendered him unable to speak.

Yuuri thinks he manages to nod, because there must be a reason for Victor's smile to widen as puts the crown back on his head.

 **-xoxo-**

They pass through a small village shortly after leaving that gravel road behind.

Yuuri's stomach is close to causing a riot, which makes them stop briefly as a petrol station to not only sate that growling stomach but to top up on petrol. Victor chooses a sausage with mashed potatoes and Yuuri settles for a sandwich.

Victor doesn't see, or maybe he doesn't care, about the amused look he gets from the clerk when he annoyingly brushes away ferns and leaves when he's trying to pay with his card. Yuuri feels his ears heat up a little as he stands next to Victor and waits, unable to understand what it must be like to be him. How oblivious Victor is to thoughts, looks and opinions of others and therefore, can be himself without having to think twice.

Yuuri smiles then, as Victor beams and fires off a ' _tack'_ as the transaction is cleared _._ Maybe, Victor will rub off on him one day. Maybe not now, when skating still is a part of their lives and he himself is too caught up in being judged professionally to really manage to disregard being judged in private. One day, though, when he's retired and the both of them have a life together that might be similar to th―

"Yuuri! Come here," Victor chirps, standing on the other side of the automatic door, holding his sausage and Yuuri's sandwich in one hand and the car key in the other.

Yuuri gives the clerk a quick bow, and hurries out where he and Victor eat their overpriced meal together whilst leaning against the bonnet of the car.

Then, they head off again with a topped up car and topped up stomachs, driving through the night in a light that seems to fade with every passing mile.

It takes a while for them to reach the E4 southbound and when they do, Yuuri's told that they have approximately four hours left to drive until reaching Stockholm after Victor glances at the GPS. Yuuri worries a little hearing that, naturally, and proposes that they should try to find somewhere to sleep, or at least rest for a little while, but Victor shakes his head and insists that they keep on driving for a little while longer. So instead of nagging, Yuuri holds Victor's hand and this time, it's him writing invisible messages as a way of keeping Victor awake.

Of course, they need to stop eventually, if not only to stretch their legs but to abide to the call of nature. So when they find and exit and a rest stop shortly thereafter, the both of them exit the SUV, head to the side of the road and unzip their trousers.

They stand next to each other in silence, overlooking the small lake in front of them. It's still light outside, a dusky rosy hue painting the sky above them. Except for the sound they make together, that muted trickling sound that hits the vegetation, there's nothing. Nothing but them.

Victor finishes first, the sound of his zipper being the cue for Yuuri to ask Victor to retrieve the hand sanitiser from his bag. Victor hums in response.

He hears Victor open the boot behind him, rummage around a little before the door closes again with a soft click.

"Here," Victor says and stands at the ready with the small bottle, offering Yuuri to go first with a small squirt. They rub their hands in a quiet understanding before they head back to the car.

"Hey, Victor," Yuuri says as he's fastening his seatbelt again, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Victor says, putting the key into the ignition.

"It's… I… I just kind of wanted to know why… _eeto_ …"

"Yuuri, come on. We took a piss next to each other and now, you don't know what to say? Damn, I love you. You know that?"

Although Yuuri would never answer that question out loud, especially not sober and most definitely not after having experienced an evening like the one he has, he feels the answer inside himself. He knows. Yes, he knows that Victor loves him and maybe, just maybe, if he dares to look a little further in, he'd agree to that he knows that Victor knows that he knows.

"Why do you ask stuff like that?" he mumbles, caught in between a lifetime of cultural rights and wrongs that sometimes feel unsurmountable. Especially when being forced to deal with them head on. But he's trying, but it still doesn't feel enough.

Victor huffs a small laugh and reaches for the key, readying himself to push it in when Yuuri stops him with a hand on his wrist.

"Victor, wait. I…" He exhales. Inhales. Decides that his hands are things better off looking at than Victor as be readies himself for his question. "What I wanted to ask you is… why… why _this_? Why do you dare so much more, _now_?"

It feels like an eternity, seconds multiplying and becoming uncountable before Victor answers. But when he does, it's with fingertips touching Yuuri's jaw, asking him for a moment of undivided attention. So, their eyes meet in that pocket of stillness and Victor delivers his truth, his reasons and motives expressed for no-one else but them to know.

"Because I feel safe with you."

Victor's words reach straight in, Yuuri feels, and he can't stop the small whimper from coming out of him. It's a sound he doesn't recognise for it is full with feelings being harnessed, controlled and hidden. Kept in line for an entire day.

No, that sound really isn't something that just a day's worth of desire has created, it's a sound made by twelve years of waiting, of hoping, of wanting. Of allowing oneself to really, really feel. _Finally._

Yuuri melts when he senses Victor's lips on his own, and he's thankful for that. He's thankful for Victor bringing him back, he is thankful for Victor stopping him before he ventures too far. He wants him to know that, he needs him to. For if he makes Victor safe, if he really, really does despite how utterly insane it sounds, Victor deserves to know that he _saves_ _him_ , time and time again.

But Yuuri never gets the chance to say that. Victor is lapping away all the sounds he wants to produce, again and again, stealing them, swallowing them. Making them his own.

"I know," Yuuri hears Victor say, their lips still connected, their teeth gently scraping against the other's, "I know, love. I know."

Yuuri knows that he does and the sigh Yuuri lets in response out isn't something Victor seems to care about safekeeping. It's something he understands, something he reads and allows to be a catalyst, for he adds nothing but a little pressure which in turn is something Yuuri reacts to.

It's like he asks Yuuri to finally go, to lose himself, to venture deep, implorations made by kisses that grow and become something messy, filthy. They're open mouthed all of a sudden as the two of them lean in to reach each other, tongues no longer meeting inside either of them but on the outside, hungry to just feel and taste and lick. To devour what the other has to offer.

Victor moans into Yuuri's mouth, and Yuuri doesn't know what to do with that confidence. He can't internalise that moan, not yet. He wants more for Victor, needs to be able to do more, so his hands stray away from Victor's face. Fumbling, searching for the button to the seatbelt.

When it clicks, it's not Yuuri who springs to action, but Victor. Yuuri gasps for air as Victor straddles him in the passenger seat, forcing him down with his mouth, his tongue begging for gaining access.

"L-let… th… mmph, Vi―" Yuuri tries to say, but Victor is starving for him, eating up every single word between his rough inhales against Yuuri's lips. Yuuri reaches, finally manages to feel the lever with his fingertips and without warning, they come crashing down when the backrest hits the backseat.

They separate, if only for a couple of heartbeats. Breathing scorching huffs of air that threatens to burn them both, leave nothing but the memory of them behind.

Victor sits up, bracing himself with a hand on Yuuri's chest. His stomach is rising and falling, his rib cage expanding with every forced breath. As he runs a hand through his hair, pushing his fringe back, he frowns and reaches over to the backseat.

"Leave it! Leave it!" Yuuri growls when he understands what Victor is indeed reaching for. It's not needed, not now, not when he can fist Victor's hair, pull it, wrap it around his hand. The flower crown turn Victor into something else, something ethereal and fleeting and that's not what Yuuri wants. Yuuri wants Victor to be there, to ground him, to pull him back. He needs him for that. Him and not a version he doubts is real.

"Fair enough," Victor responds and arches his back. Leans back until he's almost touching the dashboard.

It's a perverted view, seeing Victor's head lean back slightly, his hair stuck together by the sweat of them combined as it cascades down his back. His mouth open with bared teeth, and that noise… that noise makes Yuuri afraid to touch him, for that noise brings out something carnal in Yuuri, something that threatens him to come if he as much as breathes in the wrong way.

Yuuri feels the seat glide back. Victor must have reached the lever in the front, for he's pushing the both of them back with his other hand until another click breaks the quiet that makes Victor finally sit upright.

Yuuri notices Victor feel around in his back pocket of his trousers, and flinches when something bounces off his face and lands on his chest.

"Put it on."

Yuuri's eyes shift from the condom on his chest to Victor, who is busy getting one leg free from his trousers. It's a show in its own right, seeing Victor's hips move, his leg he's trying to free extend and contract while he's got one hand against the inside of the car, his fingers digging into any surface made for bracing against.

Yuuri swallows. He can't have Victor moving like that, grinding against him or there will be nothing more than a disappointment that will follow them all the way to Stockholm, stuck to the inside of his underwear.

"Vi-Vic, no, _Vitya_! Wait, please wait!" Yuuri cries, as he dares to put a hand on Victor's almost bared thigh. "Careful, I'm… if you move like that, I'll…"

His imploration has the intended effect, because Victor stops, shifts, and sits almost in between the seats but not quite, with the foot of leg he wants to free against the door of the passenger's seat.

Yuuri breathes, relieved. He almost worms his way out of his t-shirt with his back pressed against the backrest, then continues with unbuttoning his trousers with some difficulty. It's hard to avoid Victor's leg, it's there right across and above him, touching him on occasion, sending a fizz through him that wants to drown him from the inside.

"How… how about you, do you have…" Yuuri breathes, looking at Victor who now has managed to undress himself in the way he sought.

"Yeah," Victor replies with a smile. He's softer now. His arousal being slightly more levelled, not as acute. With a sigh, he straddles Yuuri again, and presents the small tube to him.

"Give me some," Victor says, flattening his hand with his palm up once the tube exchanges hands.

Yuuri does what he's told, still with a racing heart, because this is new. This Victor is new, this setting is new. He himself feels… not new, but enlightened. Excited even.

When Victor shifts on top of him, reaching around to touch himself with his hand, Yuuri fights the initial response to lean back, to really recline. His heart is beating, almost fighting its way out of his chest and he wants to keep that feeling, that need his heart has to meet Victor's, alive. So he unbuttons Victor's shirt instead, travelling along that fine line of being ignited and put out, and watches Victor's body move underneath the white fabric.

"Work me," Victor whispers, his mouth slightly open, stretching his arm in order to reach, to prepare.

Yuuri puts his hands on Victor's thighs. Victor is burning, being a white flame in front of him, one that Yuuri wants to be close and engulfed in. He allows his hands to travel upwards along the slippery skin, towards Victor's erection, and receives a moan when he accidentally brushes against the light hair surrounding it.

"No, no," Victor says, the words stuttering together with his exhales, his shirt coming off one of his shoulders.

"You don't want me to touch you?"

"Not there. Anywhere but there," Victor replies, his teeth bared as he shifts on top of Yuuri, creating a friction that must be made out of spite.

Digging his fingers into the seat underneath him, Yuuri manages to sit up, at least somewhat. He looks at Victor, his closed eyes and parted lips, how he's the one being lost inside himself now. Making himself reach a point where he wants more, needs more, where he'll ask Yuuri to provide. Yuuri knows he can help him, so he touches Victor's waist with his fingertips, and gets a fraction of a second's worth of eye contact and a smile before Victor disappears again, into a world Yuuri can only try to imagine.

With one hand on the small of Victor's back, he pulls himself up a little and places a kiss on Victor's stomach. And another, and another. The reaction from Victor is nonexistent, almost rude to Yuuri, which makes him add tongue after that. Allows it to create a glistening trail upwards towards Victor's chest.

"D-doing okay?" he whispers as Victor almost hits his head when he moves underneath him, but he gets no response, not until his lips reaches Victor's nipples.

It's a perverted sigh that comes out of Victor then, one that makes Yuuri's insides tremble. One that makes his heart determined to break free from its confinement if it continues. And it does, for it's with a quaking body and stuttering breaths Yuuri allows his tongue to touch the delicate skin and the small, protruding centre, and finally, closes his lips around it.

Victor tastes of sweat, salt and metal, a slight hint of alcohol or perfume, but there's another undertone to his skin as well. One that can't be described with one word. Victor tastes of endless days, of cold mountain springs, of grass and herbs and dirt. Victor tastes of sun, of mellow breezes, of strawberries and vanilla ice cream. Victor tastes of melting pavement, of petrol, of crowded metro stations.

Victor tastes magical. He's a gustatory canvas, something Yuuri never knew he missed in his life until that very moment. So Yuuri digs in, fills himself with this new flavour, this new drug, this new sucker punch to his palate. With every taste, he wants more and Victor gives. Victor gives by arching his back, making his chest press into Yuuri's face, making himself meet with Yuuri's famished mouth. Yuuri feels Victor's nipple skim across his tongue in passing, but he wants it so he bites and pulls, albeit softly, making Victor release a rumbling moan as he folds over.

Yuuri falls against the backrest, with Victor still in his mouth, still pressed against his face. His glasses are digging into the bridge of his nose now, but he doesn't want Victor to ease up on the pressure in fear of creating just enough time apart, time he doesn't want to spend by fanning the flame. He wants to combust, he wants Victor to allow him to take it.

It must look comical to the outside, how he squirms underneath Victor to get his face free. How his glasses are all askew and oily when he finally finds room, a pocket of air somewhere around Victor's shoulder.

"I can, I can do it," he whispers into the side of Victor's neck as he allows one of his hands to grip Victor's ass, "i-if you're not ready, I-I _could_ …"

Victor's stomach is invading his by quickened breaths, a continuous push and pull that makes Yuuri scream internally. It's like they're already doing it, already _fucking_ but without even getting close. Not getting close to each other, close to coming.

"Now, l-let's do it now," Victor pants, "wh-where is it?"

Yuuri feels Victor paw around him, sticking a hand underneath his legs and in between them. The low crackling of his fingers finding the condom packet, stuck somewhere underneath one of Yuuri's thighs is a triumph, close to a divine fanfare.

Victor backs up and places himself on Yuuri's thighs, pulling down his trousers and underwear without anything that resembles finesse. It's an urgency, a yearning that translates into his choppy and determined movements, something that tells Yuuri that Victor is at his breaking point, something that acts like fuel to the flame to his self confidence.

Yuuri feels himself spring free thanks to Victor's rough hands, and he quickly takes the condom packet from Victor. He opens it with his teeth and sloppily rolls it down himself. Of course he has to redo it, he notices, with air being stuck at the top. So he blushes, not only from badly disguised arousal, and dresses himself again, paying more attention this time.

"N-now wh―" Yuuri starts, but becomes interrupted by Victor who is trying to turn around on his lap.

"Raise the back. You'll need the support," Victor says firmly, almost over his shoulder.

And Yuuri does. He reaches for the lever to the back rest and raises it some, whilst looking at the marvel before him. Victor is taking off his shirt, muscle and bone playing underneath his skin as he moves, pulls his arms out of the sleeves and tosses it aside.

There are a couple of tired leaves and wilting petals still stuck in Victor's hair. Yuuri reaches over to pick them out but is stopped by a flash of blue, Victor's eyes, searching for his over his shoulder. Delivering the words that will bring him closer to his demise.

"Come," Victor quavers. "Yeah… come and put it in."

 **-xoxo-**

Yuuri closes his eyes when it happens, when he feels himself disappear into Victor. The slick tightness that surrounds him, the warmth that he senses around him, makes his breathing stutter. It feels like his body forgot how to sustain itself, like that vital part of his brain that governs over breaths and heartbeats shut itself down once Victor guided him inside.

It's peculiar not being sure if he's in pain or not. Logically, Yuuri knows that he probably should be, being poked and prodded by edges and hard, protruding surfaces, the way the leather seats painfully remind him of friction by the way they grip his skin, but… at the same time, all those things feel faint and indistinct. It's like his brain understands that those things are there at some level, but right then and there, pain doesn't mean anything for just the sensory part of his brain being functional is too immersed, too busy processing what's happening to him.

It becomes worse when Victor starts to move.

When Victor moves, Yuuri's breathing kickstarts, brought back to life by that constricting sensation with every slow, torturous rock of Victor's hips. Even though he's got air in his lungs, Yuuri feels a distress. He's inhaling all of those things his arrested breathing prevented him from doing, the things he needed to keep outside of himself.

It's thick, that smell. That smell of them blended together, of sweat and sex and fucking, an aphrodisiac in its own right that makes Yuuri grab the neckrest with fingers turning into claws. For if he as much as moves, for if he even thinks of moving, or worse, imagines that he should reach out and touch Victor, he will come.

Victor stills then, as if they're connected not just in body but in mind. He sinks down with a sigh, takes all of Yuuri inside, before he asks without as much as turning his head, "Doing okay?"

Yuuri tries to speak, he feels cottonmouthed, and manages to make a faint noise. It's an ' _u-un_ ', a sound he knows Victor hates because to him, it can be either a yes or a no. Yuuri can't see why that would make a difference, not in this context, but he corrects himself with a strained 'yes' instead.

Victor puts a hand on Yuuri's knee, a small, almost consoling kind of action, before the torture begins anew.

This time, Victor moves slow. It's just his hips swaying a little, grinding on top of Yuuri, and Yuuri can't really decide if Victor's being kind to himself or if he's considerate of the flustered mess underneath him. But, that doesn't last long.

Yuuri's eyes fling open when Victor suddenly leans forward. It's the tilting sensation that does it, the way Victor moves away from him while still keeping him inside, that makes Yuuri look. He feels Victor spread his legs a little more, one hand suddenly bracing against the dashboard and the other trying to find something to hold on to around the door. It seems like Victor settles for gripping the curved structure by the window, his hands stills there.

Then, Victor _really_ moves.

Yuuri groans when Victor takes control, when he coils and recoils his back in a manner that makes Yuuri pressed back against the backrest. Victor's ass pushes into his front in a way that knocks the air out of him, and it just keeps on happening. Only faster and faster.

Victor's entire body is working, creating lines and motion and moments. His arms and shoulders catching the propulsion his legs create, and Yuuri feels mesmerised watching Victor's back. The way his shoulder blades move, the way his spine flexes, the way his hips gyrate and the way ass digs and digs, deeper onto Yuuri's yearning. He feels faint, lightheaded, but he just can't look away.

Yuuri lets go of the headrest. Being pushed back like that in that irregular rhythm he can't prepare for makes his naked back stick to the leather, makes his neck scrape across the hard edges of the seat vertebrae by vertebrae. It stings. If he only could at least touch Victor, then that fuzzy, muted reality would blend with his own and―

"No!"

Yuuri flinches and retracts his hand. He feels panicked, he needs to hold on to something, ground himself, because the way Victor moves will end him.

"Wh-why can't I-aahh, ah, touch―" he stutters whilst pawing at the side of the driver's seat with one hand and the roof of the car with the other. Every collision made between him and Victor pushes the air out of him, effectively preventing him from speaking.

"Hips th-then," Victor offers, head bent down and muffled, "ju-just, no… let me contr-ohh…"

So, Yuuri brings his hands to skim across Victor's back until they are by his hips, still and doing nothing but following Victor's pace. He finds Victor relentless, insatiable even, for he moves with the same force, the same speed, crashing into Yuuri with a sound that is so perverted that Yuuri needs to focus to not be carried away. But it's difficult, for every push Victor makes, makes Yuuri balance on a tightrope, a frustration building inside. For he isn't allowed to let go.

He tries to move, flex his hips a little to meet Victor's body but he gets asked, no, _commanded_ not to. Victor's particular with what he wants, riding him hard and fast and disregarding Yuuri's tries when he tries to create something in sync, shooting him down with exclamations like 'no' and 'don't. That only makes Yuuri more frustrated, more handsy, more brazen, because this Victor isn't who he is used to. This Victor is selfish, somewhat dismissive, not at all what he wants.

One of his hands decides to leave Victor's hip and travel to his front instead, to his chest. Yuuri moans, finally opening up to what Victor has been denying him, as he caresses him. When he stills his hand, and he does that quite a few times, he can feel Victor's nipple against his fingertips. So he plays with it when it passes by, gently pinches it, feels it between his fingers until Victor mewls.

 _You're playing with me!_ Yuuri manages to think in the midst of that corporeal oddity-turned-bliss, _Victor, you idiot._

Inside, something explodes. It's like a Big Bang, something that gives birth to endless possibilities. And Yuuri takes a chance on one.

He manages to shift underneath Victor, bring them both a little more towards the edge of the seat despite their combined weight. He doesn't know why he does what he does next but it feels natural, asked for in a way, which makes the decision to grab Victor's hair with one hand while bracing himself with the other. He pulls back and Victor is pliant, following him by leaning his head back towards his shoulder.

Victor's profile is amazing. He's got his eyes closed, his lower lip in between his teeth, his adam's apple is moving in his throat as he produces a sound Yuuri's never heard before.

Then, it's Victor who lets go, allows Yuuri to take control by following his thrusts, his hips. Their mouths almost meet, their tongues kind of do, as Yuuri continues to pull, entwine his fingers in those strands saturated by sweat.

Victor is starting to moan. With every push Yuuri makes to get deeper inside, Victor praises him, salutes him, worships him. Their hands meet in Victor's hair, and Victor pulls, pulls, _pulls_ Yuuri's wrist until he's close to being draped across Yuuri's shoulder.

They kiss. And when they kiss, they share a glance, one that is full of intoxication, devotion and promise in the rear-view mirror. Yuuri's got one hand in Victor's hair still, the other is around Victor's jaw, allowing himself to both fill and be filled, and Victor just has his on top of Yuuri's. Allowing them to stay just where they are, as his 'aahs' become more frequent, more shrill.

"...close… so close, love," Victor whines into Yuuri's mouth before he breaks away, before he leans forward and puts a hand against the dashboard, his hair slipping through Yuuri's fingers.

Victor is touching himself now, Yuuri notices, now holding on to Victor's shoulders for more leverage. It's his cue to press on a little bit more, to be the one that brings Victor over the edge and back. So he does, by kissing Victor's sweaty back, whilst keeping up the pace Victor handed over to him.

It doesn't take long before Victor's breathing becomes quickened, his moans more guttural. He's starting to lose tonus in his body, threatening to pool off the dashboard, his counteractions to Yuuri's actions becoming more sporadic and lax.

"I love you, _Vitya_ ," Yuuri breathes against Victor's back, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

When Victor comes, he comes with a sound unparallelled. One that blurs the lines of what's real and a fantasy.

And Yuuri thanks him, by letting go.

 **-the end-**


	25. Bonus: No place like home

**I probably overworked this silly thing. It's racy because of it being October ;) Enjoy, and thanks for all the reads and reviews! xoxo**

* * *

There's one question Victor's been dying to both be asked and allowed to answer during his career as a skater. Truth be told, it's probably not an interesting question to the people who likes to read magazines focused on skating or fashion. People reading such publications are usually interested in the other end of the spectrum, the one that births the same questions and answers especially after a competition won. To Victor, success isn't what's interesting about a person and although he understands why the standard ' _congratulations on your win, how does it feel'_ -question, or the slightly revised ' _what makes you stay on top'_ -ditto, just comes naturally through the mouths of sport journalists or glossy-mag writers, he can't help but sigh and cringe internally upon hearing it.

Today wasn't an exception for the question was indeed asked, followed by flashes smattering and strobing for a few seconds, making Victor wonder if there's something he's been missing out on throughout the years. Maybe there's a consensus, a notorious but unspoken deal amongst the people he'd met for civil talks for as long as he's been skating, for it keeps on happening. The same question keeps getting asked, albeit in slightly different ways. And he just keeps on answering, allowing that shallow dance to continue.

As he's unlocking the door to his hotel room, the keycard coaxing out a small _beep_ from the electronic lock in the door, he realises that wishing for the opposite is like waiting breathlessly for the sun to set in the east. It's unnecessary to hope for such changes to happen, but he can't help that itch inside. Like hearing that coveted question would somehow give birth to something entirely different.

Victor hears the door click behind him, softly, before the darkness inside his room envelops him. He doesn't turn on the light on the small desk to the left, instead, he loosens his necktie and slides it off the back of his neck, tossing it nonchalantly on the compact rectangular shape he knows is the bed.

The room smells of ambergris and sandalwood, the last remnants of his cologne he put on before, earlier in the day. For some reason, smells in a hotel room feel awkward, for despite them bringing a sense of familiarity with them, associations and memories all tangled up into something complicated, they don't succeed in making it comfortable. All they possibly manage to do is to amplify that sense of longing. Of wanting to be _home_.

Single rooms have quickly soared up the ranks to becoming the most pathetic and sad thing in his life as of late, that lonely bed and that smell that veers in and out of his conscience are only adding to that notion. More than ever, Victor wishes he'd been asked that damn question for it would have helped him to stop with that excessive thinking; how a single bed is wrong, how he's not made for being alone, how he just wants time to pass by because he's just so bad at it these days. Waiting, that is. Showing patience. Restraint.

That's the answer to that question that still remains unasked. The blessed ' _if you had to pick one thing you are_ **bad** _at, what would that be'_ -question. For that is how it is, really. More can be said about a person's weaknesses than his strengths and Victor is constantly, painfully, _ruthlessly_ reminded that his is how he just can't wait, be patient, show restraint. Not anymore.

But he loves it, not just on nights like this.

He shrugs out of his jacket, allowing it to to drop to the floor, before he begins to unbutton his shirt. He starts with the topmost button, fights it a little before it gives in and slides through the slit in the fabric. Two more buttons and then, his skin reacts to the air with a shiver that leaves bumps in its wake. It's with a sense of longing he feels that ripple across his skin, wishing that he wasn't the one unbuttoning his shirt. That it wasn't his hands adding pressure against his skin whilst undoing the belt of his trousers, the button, the zipper. That it wasn't his fingers breaching the barrier the waistband of his underwear creates against him. That he wasn't in that goddamn hotel room. Or, at least, not alone.

Again, he's bad at waiting. Be patient. Show restraint. _Shit._

Reaching down to the now pooling pile of clothes on the floor, close to the bed, Victor fishes out his mobile phone from the pocket of his trousers. He checks the time with a slight press of the stand-by button and frowns, doing a simple calculation in his head.

Time zones are continuously bothersome and he knows for a fact that going east is far worse than heading west, but he can't help it. He's slowly being taken over by a yearning, a need, one that will soothe the thoughts about dark hotel rooms, single beds and nights alone once it has been fed.

The text message is short. It's just an ' _Are you awake?'_ followed by a heart emoji, and then, he waits. Or tries to, now reclining on the covers of his cold excuse of a bed, his hand travelling down his stomach and along the outside of his underwear. He tells himself, time and time again, not to do anything else, anything _more_ than just let his fingers trace the edges of his underwear, but it's just a heartbeat shy of impossible to listen to those internal admonitions.

Instead of staring at a static screen, hoping for those three dots to appear whilst having his pulse hammering inside his ears despite barely breathing, he opens the gallery app and dives into a folder in a folder in a folder with a slow exhale. Doing nothing just doesn't work, and as he's trying to dive further down, find the treasure inside the deepest, darkest cave of his, it stills a bit. That voice inside that keeps pestering him, asking him to just get on with it. Wanting him to succumb. Act on what he wants and feels.

It quiets down eventually, but not until he finds what he seeks. Then it flares up again, erupts more like, when he makes contact with what stimulates him. Visually, at least.

This is the reason why he can't wait anymore, why his patience is constantly faltering, why his restraint gets incapacitated by jolts and jolts of mind-numbing desire that makes him lose his footing. The reason are small moments in time, captured in eternity; dark hair and eyes behind glasses, flushed and naked skin, parted lips, head thrown back, a hand doing a poor job of hiding an erection that make his own ache even though he's just looking at a few pictures. But it's more than that. It's also an arched back, water beading on skin, bruised feet on white satin sheets, food stuck to the corners of a mouth as a tongue tries to catch what's lost and wayward, hands digging into fur, breath turning into smoke whilst veiling frosted eyelashes. Fingers braided together with golden promises reflecting a flame that cannot be extinguished.

"Fuck," Victor breathes, releasing his bottom lip from between his teeth. His thumb works frantically now, scrolling down, down, down until he, by heart, finds and clicks on the preview image and seconds after, turns the volume on his phone up to max.

' _Nooo,'_ the voice that bursts through phone whines, ' _put it away.'_

' _But you look so gorgeous right now,'_ his own voice flutters. ' _Please let me. Just your face. Okay?'_

There's a laugh, a laugh that carries not only an embarrassment but also something playful in its tone, something that doesn't need much convincing. If any at all.

' _What are you hoping to see?'_ This is whispered while a few fingers fidgets with a strand of hair, once it has gotten quiet between them.

' _You,'_ his own voice says, sounding matter of factly. ' _Just pretend it's not there.'_

' _How can I possibly when you have it so close? Victor, come on.'_ A frown, dark eyes trying to see behind the phone. Through it, almost.

Seeing those eyes makes Victor's heart hiccup, for it seems like they succeed. Not only to see behind and through the phone, but also, deep into him. Realities apart, one might say, for what happens on the screen is then and this is now.

The clip ends there, the screen turning black right after a ' _Let it go, I told you no,'_ at the same time it gets silent. The clip ends there or at least, that's what one might think if you're watching it from the outside. Yes, if you weren't there at the very start when that intimate conversation began it's easy to get fooled, for knowing what happens next kind of needs you to be Victor Nikiforov. And he waits, in a breathless suspension.

The sound comes back again and this time, strained exhales are heard through the phone as well as moans and sounds that might as well be a flash flood of ecstasy, bursting out from the minimal speaker on the phone. Yes, that sound just opens and tears everything else along with it, filling up Victor's being and threatening to empty it all the same in the now.

For Victor knows what comes next once that phone becomes flipped over on that mattress, when the black turns into nothing but a white ceiling instead, he knows it like it's the only truth he'll ever attest to. And, when the dark eyes and swaying black hair comes in and out of view from above, anchored to one of the top corners that small screen, the Victor in the now puts his hand down his underwear and takes hold of himself, thrusting his hips up with a familiar rhythm. One that matches what he sees on the screen.

' _F-feels good? Hm? I-it's okay?'_

His own voice seeps out from the phone with a croon, a gravelly ' _yeah'_ , one that overflows with pleasure, and on the screen, his legs are pulled up, the bend of his knees resting on the shoulders of his blessed demise. Almost lifelessly, they rock back and forth with every push that ends up inside him, with every majestic ebbing and flowing view of dark hair and eyes, now closed.

And just as Victor feels that he's close, not just in that short movie clip but in the flesh as well, sprawled out on the bed with his legs wide apart and back arched, it comes. Distorting his view and almost making him flinch due to the sound turned up.

' _No,'_ the text message says before it vanishes, taken over by yet another one in rapid succession. ' _What are you doing?'_

True, there's a flash of disappointment that Victor feels in that moment, for his hips still want to feed his palm his erection and now, he feels interrupted and bothered. Not wanting to rein in and put out what has already been set ablaze. So, he decides to ride that wave, show nothing of the things he is good at but instead, just give into that pull in his abdomen. Because this is really why he is enamored by that new side of him, why he wants it to govern over him, act sovereign to everything else that is reminding him of sense and composure.

Victor releases himself, now slightly soft due to the message-made intrusion, and wipes the hand on the covers before he types an answer back. One that actually takes one or two seconds of thought because he doesn't want to seem like a person that desperately jerks off when alone and given a chance, nor does he want to lie when he does crave for an accomplice.

' _Thinking of you,'_ is the response he settles with, for it's not entirely a lie, and adds, ' _Was your flight okay?'_ in just a heartbeat after. After all, the chase is better when there's some resistance. When one has to work for it.

' _Yes, it was fine. So tired now, I don't know what day it is anymore,'_ comes the response, together with a sleepy-faced emoji.

' _Sorry, I shouldn't have texted you. Go back to sleep,'_ he types, feeling a sting of guilt and bad character upon reading that. But before sending it, he erases it, types it again, erases it and breathes and… feels a jolt starting either between his legs or his brain, he's not sure, one that makes him type ' _What are you wearing?'_ instead.

He presses send.

It takes an eternity at least before the three dots show up again, and when they eventually deliver what's hidden behind them, that teasing animation that holds too much promise, Victor feels shot down. All he gets is a ' _What?'_. Seeing that small word, uncontested in that blue speech bubble, somehow makes it so much worse than what it needs to be.

But that doesn't take away the fact that the ' _What?'_ is there, standing out like something grating and annoying. It's like it needs to be fought by a response, something that in theory could disarm it and soften it up. Indeed, it is something that needs to be corrected, and one might think that Victor should be immune to those answers, those cerebral reactions from the person responsible, by now. Fact is, Victor knows why they keep seeping through every now and then. They really are a token of admiration, a token from a person adjusting to a love that keeps getting bigger, bolder. A love that is a surprise and a blessing to the both of them and remembering that, well… if anything, it helps Victor catch his bearings.

He wants a conversation.

The flash of his phone camera really does nothing for his skin, Victor cringes when looking at the screen of his phone. That white, harsh light, makes his complexion look horrible, even paler than what he actually is. With a slight groan, he stretches over to the side of the bed, hand and arm out and at the ready, and turns on the light on the nightstand. The bulb has a soft, orange sheen, one that with a little imagination could be taken for a caribbean sunset or something just as smoldering, and not a shitty although expensive hotel room across the Atlantic. It's simply made for the occasion, that light, Victor thinks after snapping a photo of his face and scrutinising it for a moment, deciding that he's going to go close to all in for his first offensive.

With a smile, he tucks one finger into his underwear and pulls them down a little in the front, just enough for a hint of hair to show. He poses as much as one can whilst being on a bed, mainly by twisting his upper body a bit, trying to see on the on the screen what it does to his abs.

When he's satisfied with how his body looks, twisted into something that's actually uncomfortable but looks fucking hot if he may say so himself, he smiles at the phone, trying a few different variations before takes the shot. That little peek inside his little corner of the world, a proof of what he's doing in that particular pocket in time, what he innately wants, is now captured and sends it without a second's hesitation.

The response is immediate. One of those japanese text based emojis that looks like a cat getting a nosebleed pops up within a second and then, the emoji of a volcano elbows its way onto his screen not just once, but four times. Make that five, for as Victor's typing his answer, yet another one settles in with the rest of them. It's amusing how it pops up a little bit after the others, and Victor can't help but smile for he knows why that is.

He erases what he started to type and sends ' _5 out of 5? Wow! Amazing!'_ instead, and a winking kissy-face.

The three dots reveal ' _I am awake now'_ and a face that looks like a simplified rendition of Edvard Munch's masterpiece, and that makes Victor not only smile but laugh. His phone chimes again, annoyingly loud still which makes him turn down the volume a bit, this time with ' _...one more?'_ , followed by a ' _please'._ Within that heartbeat of a moment, Victor's pulse picks up, finds his ears again and fills him with that indescribable feeling that resounds not only inside him, but between his legs.

' _Your wish is my command,'_ Victor types back, ' _but you need to give me something in return. What are YOU wearing?'_

It gets quiet after that message, Victor's phone isn't chirping for a while. But it's just as well, he reasons with himself, for he knows that his recipient is just as intent on giving back―

―or maybe not, since the image he receives is one depicting a fully clad fiancé, glasses askew with sleep marks on his cheeks, the pattern resembling that from a throw or a knitted sweater.

Although Victor wants to text back ' _Try harder,'_ he refrains from doing so. It was what he asked for after all, although he had hoped for something more teasing. Something that could whet his imagination. He chokes back a sigh because he understands that there are two possible reasons for this situation. One being that his fiancé simply is like that at times, _literal_ is probably the best way to describe him. Then again, there's also that second option, that he is indeed _teasing_ him. And oh, what an interesting prospect that is.

With that in mind, hoping that the second option really is the one they both are going for although he can't really be sure, he decides to play along a little. For he can be a tease too.

This time, Victor takes a photo with him being on his side, his underwear scooted down to show just enough ass whilst he is arching his back obscenely. Almost like he was being pulled by the hair, forced into submission when being penetrated at the same time. He parts his lips and squints, trying to sell the image of being in absolute bliss as he tilts his head back a little.

It's a killer, that photo, judging by the reaction that follows.

He receives Japanese characters, several of them in fact, before the roman letters show up. Although they're not making much more sense than the Japanese characters, the emoji that follows do, with glints flanking at least three sets of praying hands, a few volcanoes and a casket, followed by too many hearts to count.

Then, it comes. The photo he was hoping but never dared explicitly to ask for. The deal breaker. The one that makes him understand that the both of them are on the same page.

It's cropped funny, for the entire face doesn't show. What does show is the face from the nose down, and the torso down to the waist. It's hard to tell if he's sitting or standing in the photo, but that's a stupid detail not worthy of his time. Instead, Victor is drawn to the way the t-shirt is held out of the way by teeth, baring the slender but chiseled midriff with specks of light colouring them with golden spots. And, Victor mewls when he sees it, that hand seemingly sliding down those abs with fingers wide apart, threatening to go _lower_. Underneath those ghastly sweats.

If this is torture, then Victor'll happily call himself a masochist from now on, he decides. If his pulse was racing before, it's revving now, making him try to catch his breath. He can't allow such an act go unpunished, the way he's being teased and tested when composure is something he's lacking. So, he decides to retaliate by preparing for another photo.

This time, he goes into the bathroom and stands in front of the bathroom mirror. The light is whiter there than in the main room but soft still, reminding him of the set of a photo shoot. The way it flatters skin, erases imperfections and enhances what's there makes it the perfect backdrop for his next attack.

He takes a few photos by photographing the mirror, posing with his underwear pulled down a bit to sell the image of being unclothed, but they're not really conveying the message he wants them to. The 'I know exactly what you're doing, now top this'-kind of vibe. He needs to try harder.

Victor stands there, thinking for a few seconds, before he puts his phone down on the countertop surrounding the basin and turns the knob on the faucet. He gathers a bit of water in his hands and runs them through his hair, allowing himself to be sloppy about it so that quite a bit of water ends up _on_ him instead of _in_ his hair. With a quick glance in the mirror, he knows that the photo he'll send next will be the two to his already epic one-two punch, his hair being damp and pulled back and his chest and abs being wet with droplets of water beading here and there. A few of the droplets acting like his emissaries the way they are being pulled down by gravity, down towards the border that is unseen in the photo. The border he wants breached.

Shortly after sending it, his phone rings. But he declines the call, quickly typing a ' _Not yet, love. Convince me we should talk, try your hardest,'_ with an eggplant emoji between two peaches, hurrying back to the bed.

Victor takes off the cover, rips it off is maybe more apt way to describe it, and slides in underneath the duvet, the bedclothes feeling cool against his now molten skin. He contemplates to undress completely, to get rid of that pathetic piece of fabric that his holding him into place. It feels like an impenetrable wall, like a punishment to still be wearing his underwear, but as his hand is gripping the fabric digging into his hip, his phone fanfares again. And just like that, Victor has forgotten all about being tethered and shackled for his eyes are stuck to an image he knows will be put in a folder in a folder in a folder. If he'll survive the consequences of what he sees.

' _Good enough?'_ the message reads above the image, and by God, it is.

Victor's brain short circuits seeing that photo, as his eyes are going back and forth to take it all in. The naked skin, taut against the muscles of that slender body. The dark eyes shadowed not just by black hair but of a myriad of lashes as well, closed, or maybe just looking down in a coy fashion. How one hand is in that hair, fingers buried by the thickness of the strands and how the other―

Victor has to swallow. Swallow and look away for a second, to reset himself and maybe even contemplate that what he's seeing is real. Maybe, even spend a few more to think about how that photo must have been taken with the help of a timer because the angle is nothing but divine and both hands of the subject are busy and one of them is tangled up in hair and the other is… is… is…

"Ngh, Yuuri," Victor whines when his eyes make contact with the screen anew, when his hand just forces itself down his underwear and grabs what's now wet, aching and rigid. Then, it becomes a race to back out of all of the windows and folders, images and clips to reach the phone screen, a race to find the right number, a race as he panics while pressing 'no' when eager fingers manage to call not only a sponsor, but Yakov and his physiotherapist as well. A thought flutters by, one that tells him to rename every contact starting with 'Y' except that particular one, but it disappears like a bubble being popped when _his_ call becomes declined.

The exhale is impossible to keep steady. It stutters in the same way it tends to do when shivering and true, Victor is indeed shivering now but not from any kind of cold. It's the opposite in fact, it's the ravaging heat from sexual desire and frustration, whisked together with anticipation and a large helping of debilitating bliss that makes it so.

' _Now _you_ do your worst,'_ the message says, making Victor's phone tremble almost as much as he is.

' _The things I want to do to you,'_ Victor replies, wondering if he just died and sees the doors to heaven in the distance. Although, it's not until the response comes, the ' _Show me,'_ that makes his heart flatline or just about. Forcing him to lose tonus in the arm and hand holding on to the phone as it crashes into the mattress with a small bounce upon impact. Making him gasp for air like fish out of water. Ending him so effectively, just like that.

Victor doesn't know for how long he remains like that, becharmed, bewildered and besotted, before he comes back. Back inside that body that just screams at him to do, do, do. Do. His. Worst. It's almost in a haze how he sets up the following photo, one that will grant him an audience with his conqueror, his missionary, his master. The one that just have bested him. Topped him.

He is naked this time the timed shutter clicks. Naked with his legs wide apart, one of them bent with the knee pulled up close to his ear. One hand is making a mess of the lotion applied on, around and beneath his erection and the other holds on to it, a proof of how much he wants, needs, yearns for that voice being his prize.

' _Please,'_ Victor writes, although his spelling is nothing but a jumbled mess, ' _please, please, please, please let me hear you.'_

Then, it rings.

It's just a fraction of a ringtone being heard in that otherwise silent hotel room, just the slightest noise before it becomes quiet again. Or, as quiet it can be in a room when a body is desperately trying to function with a racing heart trying to convince lungs to draw breaths and let them out in order to sustain. Persevere.

"Hey," Victor finally hears, that voice whispering into his ear. That voice sounding like home.

"H-hey," he stutters back, trying to talk and swallow and breathe at the same time, like his body is brand new and just doesn't know what to do or in which order to do it.

They share a yet another pause. In a way, at least to Victor, it feels like it settles them. Grounds them. Makes them understand that they've reached something new together, created something they need a moment to figure out. Or… continue.

"How was your day?" Victor hears, slightly louder now but still faint.

That makes him think. About nothing in particular and everything thinkable at the same time. Like that question created a conflict, a clash of everything micro and macro, like universes colliding inside something too small to see. But, as his brain jumpstarts and finds a normal train of thought, something that's actually coherent and cohesive, Victor knows that he needs to answer and does so from the heart.

"Now, it's great," he says in earnest, before he asks the same thing. "Yours then, Yuuri?"

Yuuri huffs a small amused laugh, "It's just starting so… I don't know yet."

Then, almost like divine intervention, they laugh together. They start small, giggles almost being held back, wondering if that reaction is allowed considering the mood they found themselves in seconds prior, but that laughter builds and becomes a roar, one that fills up that otherwise empty hotel room and bounces off the walls. Multiplying into infinity when the both of them realise that it is okay, that their shared state isn't one born out of embarrassment and awkward realisations but rather, a togetherness, a connection that can only be found between those calling themselves lovers and best friends. They continue reaching higher and higher, pulling the other along until they reach their peak. Then, it becomes silent and still again as they float back down, but only for the shortest of moments.

" _Blyad_ ," Victor says almost under his breath, trying to catch some of those thoughts flapping around like a flock of birds. "Yuuri, I… shit, that photo. I… wow, just… wow. You know?"

"I… figured you would like that. The picture, I mean," Yuuri says.

"Like?! I _loved_ it. _Loved. It._ Love, I just… I just love your dick, okay?" Victor breathes, hearing himself sound so serious which is, indeed, a slightly amusing contrast considering what he just said. "I miss it. I miss _you_."

Yuuri makes a small noise then, something that resembles both an 'aw' and an 'oh', and Victor can't really make out if Yuuri's impressed, pitying or just uncomfortable when he does it. His speculations get interrupted by Yuuri's voice though, now sounding slightly more pensive, more curious.

"Hm, I could tell," Yuuri murmurs before clearing his throat a bit, "but you know, Vitya?"

"Mhm?"

"That… that photo you sent in return, was… I mean, was that… did you-uh…"

"Hm?"

"What I'm asking is if-uh… If you really, or no, if you want to or more like, already―"

"What," Victor laughs, as the words bury themselves inside him, making him understand their meaning completely, "are you asking me if I came? In the photo? Is that what you're doing right now?"

There's a small pause, as long as a couple of heartbeats before Yuuri answers, almost inaudibly this time. "Yes."

Victor manages to keep that reaction, that laugh out of surprise, inside as he feels it again. That surge, that need picking away at his defences. That stupid inability to wait, be patient and show restraint threatening to wreak havoc if being pushed a little, teased a little. This time, he knows that it won't take much, if anything, to make him reach that exalted state.

Trying to keep himself, his voice, his breathing as steady as possible, Victor dares to continue. And oh, how it takes all of that remaining sliver of self control to sound matter of factly. To make it sound less than what it is when in fact, he just wants to make that illusion from the photo a reality.

"No. I haven't. I haven't," he starts, and he does indeed sound like he's composed. But that boom in his ears is even louder now, making his body react to it, to the images he sees before his inner eye. That's when he just blurts it out, that wish that makes every fibre that is him ache like they're infested by a sickness that only a release shared with that voice in his ear can cure.

"...but I want to."

"Huh?"

"I want to come."

There's a pause. Naturally so, for this is actually new to them. Not the need they feel when being separated, that is something they are familiar with. No, what's new is to succumb to the need while being apart but still… together in a sense, their voices the only thing that connects them.

Victor hesitates for a moment, a reaction brought on by that pause, and thinks to himself that maybe, it was a dumb thing to say out loud when he in fact can take care of that predicament when it becomes silent anew. When they have hung up and disconnected from each other and he is left to his own whims and impatience.

There's a sound in his ear then, something that catches his attention a fraction of a second too slow, something that pulls him back from that sensation inside. That sensation he can only try to describe, although he knows it's defeat.

"Sorry," Victor hums, slightly embarrassed, "I didn't catch that."

There's a small huff in his ear, just shy of being a scoff, making Victor's heart drop. Naturally, it was a bad idea being so blatant, one that not only strengthened his view about himself as not being able to stand down, rein himself in, one that just acts on impulses like a fucking caveman, but also, one that made Yuuri regard him in the same way. That sharp exhale doesn't need a further explanation.

"... you idiot. I-I said 'okay'. A-are you…" Yuuri's voice trails off, almost softens into something inaudible before it builds and becomes stronger. "No, don't tell me you're doing it _now_?!"

It's hard to tell what happens first, if Victor becomes an embodiment of those volcano emojis or if it's a flash of shame that heats him up. Nevertheless, he combusts with his mind becoming simple, one-tracked even, suddenly at a loss for words. He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, suddenly feeling uncomfortably _close_. Somehow, he manages to groan something that at least sounds like a 'no', although that's a lie for he kind of is. On the inside, there's a show playing out, just for him. One that grows filthier with every heartbeat, one that makes him want to cry out to Yuuri, beg for Yuuri to catch him, for it feels like the sky has begun to fall and he is coming down with it.

"You-uh," Victor hears Yuuri almost whisper again as he tries to keep that feeling in the pit of his stomach contained, "feel like we should do a, um, video thing instead?"

Victor's eyes fly up hearing that and it almost makes him feel disoriented, despite being on his back in that, now comfortably warm, queen sized bed.

"No, no, I, no. It's… we don't…" he tries, strangling that glutton inside him as he pathetically grabs for words, no matter what kind that pops up inside his brain. "Your voice is, is, is fine, love. I… I won't take long."

"O-okay," Yuuri's voice sounds into his ear. "So, um, how do we do this? Should I just… talk or…?"

"Please," Victor breathes, his hand sustaining his erection with slow strokes, "come with me. Tell me what you're doing."

Yuuri groans a little into his ear. It's one of those noises Victor has learned that Yuuri makes when he's torn, trying to contain his embarrassment while at the same time _wanting_ to let go.

"Tell me, darling," Victor encourages, upping the pace with his hand. "Tell me what you're doing right now."

That imploration draws a one syllable kind of laugh out of Yuuri.

"Okay, now I'm… pushing down my clothes on the floor. I… I hurried to get undressed before."

"You undressed for me. You hurried for me. Right, love?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I did."

"Mmm," Victor croons. "What underwear did you have on?"

"The blue ones you got me from Italy."

"I love those on you."

"I know you do. Now, I'm getting into bed."

"Are you on your side?"

"No, on my back," Yuuri chirps. "Do… do you want me to be in some other way?"

Victor's lips part in response, releasing a slow, tortured exhale. He understands that he's listening to the voice of his fiancé as that goddamn tease is getting more and more into it. More and more turned on. More and more bold.

Fuck being controlled and composed, Victor thinks to himself, tilting his hips up. Fuck hoping for others to see the parts of him that they apparently don't want to see. Fuck proving people wrong when he can do _this_ without inhibitions, succumbing to everything that's bad with himself.

"Can you be on your knees, love? Can you have your ass high and your head low for me?"

There's rustling sound finding its way into Victor's ear before Yuuri's voice cuts through that thick expectation, the one keeps Victor hostage and on edge.

"There, _Vitya_. I did what you asked me to, no, wa-wait, this, it's uncomfortable."

"I dare you to turn on the speaker," Victor says as he stops stroking himself, already out of breath.

It's almost as if his breathing gets consumed by his suggestions towards Yuuri, who in turn fills his lungs back up with his responses. It's a push and pull they're partaking in, a giving and a receiving. No, it's a giving and a _taking_ , more like, for they are just as hungry, just as needy, just as longing.

"Just a second," Yuuri says before a crackle is heard. "There. I hear you now."

"Speaker?"

"Headset."

"Coward," Victor giggles.

" _Hentai_ ," Yuuri quips back.

"But that's a medal of honor," Victor muses, although slightly disappointed that his pulse is slowing down, that he's getting his wits about him again. He's ready to take that plunge, to be led astray by Yuuri's voice narrating his fantasies. However, just when he's going to be that Victor he knows can be slightly abrasive due to his brutal honesty, because his patience is stretched thin into invisibility now, Yuuri cuts in.

And surprises him.

"So," Yuuri says, his voice like molten honey and gold to Victor's ears, "where were we?"

 **-xoxo-**

It doesn't take long for Victor when he and Yuuri start to travel down that path again, when they find the 'where' to their visual-gone-oral game together.

It doesn't take long, for Yuuri is feeding Victor with what he wants. Although his words are slightly hesitant at first, unfamiliar to be clad in his voice, he tries, seemingly leveling up with every reaction he gets in return. Even a simple thing like that, Yuuri trying hard for him, taking nastier and filthier and more depraved words in his mouth in the same fashion he would take in Victor's dick when being together, makes Victor feel the need to pause.

Although Victor doesn't disclose this, that he's holding on by a thread due to his fiancé's treatment, he stops. Time and time again. For when he stops, he's not only letting go of his length, now sticky due to lotion both artificial and natural. He's also thinking of sad things, horrible things, for Yuuri's voice is like a vice. Or, deft hands, more like, for they are wringing him out, threatening to make him lose whatever fluids he's desperately trying to contain.

Thinking these thoughts, for how is he supposed to climax when thinking about his dog dying, his love leaving, his career being nothing, pulls him back just enough. But, as soon as he starts stroking himself whilst being prompted by Yuuri, he's close to peaking.

"Are you moving your hips, _Vitya_? Are you pushing into me?" Victor hears Yuuri say, and there's a resolve there now. Yuuri's words, his voice, they're not just asking but commanding, making Victor feel weak. Close to pathetic even for he has no say in this, not anymore. Not as long as those words keep infesting his mind, body and soul.

Victor thinks for a second, and it really is a fluttering thought in passing, that he should just let go, allow that tension that comes from that glorious friction take him further and further, closer and closer, until all he can ever do is give in and fall.

"I-I am, so deep. You're so good, love. You're taking all of me, I'm entirely inside you. Don't stop riding me, baby…" Victor mewls, seeing just that play out although his eyes are closed. Yes, Yuuri is riding him, Yuuri's hips digging into him while he meets up that energy with hips violently pushing upwards. He can almost hear it, too, the sound their colliding bodies make if he directs that focus a little more inward, but doing so wakes another need. One that culminates in knowing. Therefore, he asks, "Are you close too, love, Yuuri, baby? I-I-I'm so… I'm so damn―"

"Hold on a bit longer, _Vitya_. I… I'm getting there, soon. I-I just need… I need yo-your… your dick a bit longer. Faster, please, much faster. I don't want to… to be able to sit tomorrow. Harder!"

"Yeah? Oh, yeah? You're so filthy, just so, mmm, _damn filthy_. Slam down on me, baby, more, more."

"I… I'm… I'm there with my mouth now! Let me lick you off my lips. Aaahh, you taste so good, _Vitya_ , so good. Let me s-suck you dry."

Although it's something Victor in all honesty finds buzzkilling in real life, the mere thought of going from the anal tightness to the slick and warm wetness of a mouth just like that, having Yuuri suggesting it with a sharp edge in his voice, almost commanding him to accept that fantasy with that tone, he succumbs. He sees Yuuri down him, again and again and again and, may any available divines have mercy on him, keeping the eye contact without as much as blinking.

"You feel that? How I have you inside me? How warm it is to be inside my mouth? Can you feel my tongue?"

"Yuuri! Yes, yes, do-don't... I-I'm almost there!"

"You want to come? Are you ready?"

"Y-yes, I, _blyad_ , just keep… soon, so close now!"

Victor isn't sure if he's imagining it, for the perception of time is altered now. Time moves torturously slow, only to speed up in bursts and he thinks that is why it feels like a silence between them. One that spreads out and almost makes him lose his way, that altitude he's gained. Maybe, there really is a silence there now, reminding him of when he came back from that interview, back to that dark room with its lonely, empty bed.

Yes, there's still ambergris and sandalwood in the air, giving Victor the sense of longing, of wanting to be home. Maybe this is home, where bathroom products crowd the shelves and drawers, where toothbrushes snuggle together in the same glass. Where post-its on the fridge makes promises and intentions makes them come true. Where he knows he can be himself and drop his guard, not giving a shit about what's supposedly good or bad.

"If you come right now, I'll wear your cum like a lipstick."

With a final stroke, a final heartbeat, a final silly try to draw breath, Victor climaxes. It's like being shot through the air, the height he previously lost is gained within a fraction of a second.

Victor feels his body react to what Yuuri's words made his mind see before him, feels how it convulses and tightens without relaxing. His orgasm presses all the air out of him and keeps it so, and although he can't continue to stroke himself, it continues. That otherworldly, absolute ecstasy. It's like a rolling wave that comes back to drown him again and again and, strangely enough, he must have succumbed to its depths because his eyes suddenly see nothing but a darkness, but instead of being black, it's deep red. Close to burgundy.

" _Victor?"_

Yes, he must have drowned. Melted right through the bed and swallowed by that abyss below that feels warm and blissful and exhilarating.

" _Victor? A-are you okay?"_

Yuuri's voice feels so far off that Victor kind of accepts his fate. Yes, there he is, drowning in a sea of pleasure where he can only hope that the waves eventually will carry him to shore.

" _Vitya?"_

He thinks that he somehow got to shore. The warmth around him, the warm light reminding him of a Caribbean sunset, how he gasps for air and slowly opens his eyes―

"Are you choking?!"

―or maybe, he's just in an impersonal hotel room.

"No, no. I'm fine," Victor manages to slur.

"The noises you made, I…" Yuuri interrupts himself with an odd little laugh, "I worried."

"If that's a way to die," Victor tries, his mouth feeling dry and full of cotton, words sticking to each other in his mouth, "then kill me now."

"Don't say that," Yuuri lovingly scolds him.

Victor slowly settles in the silence, the almost silence rather, made by their alternating breaths. He listens, how his huffs are quicker, more shallow, quaking when he exhales. He listens, how Yuuri's are slow and deep, not at all coloured by what they just shared and thus, a question forms inside his head.

"Did you come?" Victor asks, with a voice still impaired, still sticky inside his mouth.

"I… I-uh…"

"Are you embarrassed to tell me?" he yawns, feeling that cocooning tiredness that can only follow a release embrace him.

And, maybe that's why he doesn't follow up on the question just asked, for when Yuuri changes the subject, asks him for more details about his day, he forgets the question posed. Drawlingly, he tells Yuuri about the interview and the photoshoot, the many changes of clothes. He comes back to the interview again, for there it is again; the disappointment of seeing him as something fantastic and unbeatable.

"Yuuri," Victor interrupts himself when that feeling seeps into his conscious mind again, "what would you say that I'm _bad_ at?"

"Bad?"

"Yes, bad. Not sexual-nasty- _ohyou'resobad_ -bad, I mean bad as in being―"

"Unskilled?" Yuuri fills in.

"Yeah. Unskilled," Victor parrots, tasting the word in his mouth. He's a little surprised that it tastes okay. A bit sweet, even.

"Hmm..." Yuuri sounds, and judging by the pause, it seems like he thinks of a million possible options. A million ways to let Victor know who he really is.

Victor is about to ask the inevitable, ' _tough question?'_ , and despite being spent, out of commission and used, he's planning on delivering it a bit tongue-in-cheek because there's a sting inside, made by that pause. Maybe, there's much to him that is difficult, bothersome and annoying. But despite his intention, Yuuri is a heartbeat faster.

"What you're bad at? Tell you what, I'll tell you when we're both at home."

"But… that's not for another, what, nine days? Don't be cruel to me!"

"Pfft," Yuuri scoffs, "you had a great time just now. Don't say that I'm cruel."

Victor laughs a little as he wriggles around in bed, trying to get his feet down on the floor. As they touch the somewhat cool hardwood surface, allowing him to stand up and walk over to the bathroom, he looks at himself in the mirror.

His hair is a mess, not windswept but climaxswept rather, close to standing on edge in the back. The fringe is almost tangled, still wet from the impromptu styling before. His skin, at least on his cheeks, neck and chest, is slightly pink, like flower petals just underneath. Surprisingly, he's still got some volume between his legs, which makes him smile a little because it's all Yuuri's doing, and thinking of what they just shared only sustains it.

"Hey, love?" Victor asks, keeping his phone to his ear by using the shoulder as he washes his hands. "It's late here, you know, and I… don't think I'll be able to stay awake for much longer."

Yuuri hums a little in his ear in response.

"But I… I wanted to thank you. For this. I loved it." He pauses. "I love you."

"Nine more days, _Vitya_."

"Sounds like an eternity to me."

"You're going to be busy. I'll be busy and… We'll be home in no time."

Victor chuckles a little before they say their goodbyes, goodbyes filled with loving epithets and promises of time jumpstarting, of being in the arms of the other.

As the quiet spreads out in that anonymous hotel room, now smelling faintly of not only cologne but also that musky and thick scent of sex, Victor staggers back to the bed and falls heavily on top of it. After a vain attempt to reach the lightswitch from where he's at, he gives in and rolls over to flip it.

The dark immediately settles in, drowning all the details within the second.

It's strange, really. As Victor's lying there in bed, with his eyes closed and waiting for sleep to claim him, the smells in the room and the euphoria still coursing through his body makes him relaxed. At ease. For those things combined with Yuuri's parting words, still on replay in his mind has made him realise something. It's a silly little truth, maybe even just wishful thinking from a man finding himself alone again, in a foreign country and in an unknown bed, but… Yuuri, upon moving in with him in St. Petersburg, created what he now considers to be home. And he will always carry home with him, for it is nothing but a text away.


	26. Bonus: Not in vain, pt 1

**Long time no see, you guys! Life has been super busy as it can be at times and I have barely written a single line in months, but, Victor's 30th birthday was something that called me out of my hidey-hole. This is a 5+1 thing, I've found I really like to write those kind of things, full with the angst we all love so dearly :)**

 **The blurb to this might be _Five times Victor thought of the things that once were and one time he faced the thing that is._ The +1-story will come in a week or two. Happy birthday, Victor!**

 **The title comes from Alexandr Pushkin's poem _Angel;_**

 ** _"I've seen you," he enunciated, -_**

 ** _"And not in vain you've sent me light_**

* * *

On the eve of The Birthday, Victor is the one who lies sleepless.

It's not common for him to do so, roll around in bed like a wraith uneasy and not become immediately whisked away by the slightest hint of sleep, feeling every dent and elevation the otherwise soothing and soft landscape creates against his muscles and skin as he tries to settle. Victor is usually a good sleeper, one that becomes one with oblivion as soon as his head makes contact with the pillow but tonight, every change in position, every twist and turn only adds more; more uncomfortability, more movement, more _thoughts_.

For that is what happens, and undoubtedly so, when a person is breaching the barrier between being a young adult and finally becoming one. When one, at least in theory, has to start to act one's age. When life is supposed to have reached some kind of destination when one is just supposed to _know_ , be they solutions, answers, explanations, no matter what come one's way to contest one's savvy. At least, that is what one might think.

But… even though the topics above would be reasonable to think about, they are not what runs through Victor's head that night. Instead, when Victor turns around to the right for the umpteenth time, wrestles his pillow in a headlock at the bend of his arm and breathes out as his eyes fling open, he sees the top of a head clad in a myriad of tousled, black strands of hair. And this is when he stops for the first time that night. Stops and allows himself to open up to those thoughts that have been prodding him, lurking around him, pestering him. Almost singing a siren's song, asking him to play with them. Luring him to go deeper.

Victor rarely thinks about age and he doesn't do it this night either, despite aching joints and a back feeling stiff. Instead, upon seeing Yuuri's hair and catching the faintest whiff of him through the duvet that is almost swallowing him up, Victor nuzzles in. Rests his cheek against that forest of dark, wraps his arm around the ever rising, ever falling frame underneath that thick duvet and goes on a journey. For that is how Victor is, really, not worried about things to come, not anymore, but rather, pensive about things that once were. Pensive about the thing, the mere concept of something, he hasn't been able to understand up until recently.

 _What led me to this?_

 **:: I ::**

Victor is but eight years old when he finally understands something that is cruel to a boy so young. Or rather, it's a cruel thing to learn at any age, but devastating to an eight year old. Devastating in ways people can't possibly imagine.

When Victor is eight, he knows that his father acts strange at times. Not only has he noticed people react to his papo, he has seen it first hand for himself. Felt it too. Not only the smell that emanates from papo's mere presence, but how everyone just mellows down when he's like that. How everyone suddenly acts like they are invisible. Or, like papo's invisible, by averting their eyes and going about their day despite what plays out before them.

Needless to say, papo isn't and never will be invisible, especially when he's like that. When he's like that, that _uninvisible_ , he becomes more angry, more scary, more loud. More unpredictable. He becomes scarier than stories about Baba Yaga, who papo sometimes tells Victor about when he doesn't smell or is angry. Victor decided early that he'd rather meet the trollop than the strange version of his father; the old bag is someone who he can understand, or at least predict.

Even though it's frightening in ways Victor doesn't quite know how to express yet, he has figured out a way to deal with that kind of papo, the one that swears, breaks things and not only things, and keeps raging like a countryside blizzard by whipping everyone and everything into submission by his mere presence alone. The key to that, at least to an eight year old Victor's way of dealing with the world, is to try harder in everything he does. That makes sense to him, to try harder to learn French, to try harder to read classical poetry although he doesn't understand half of the words, to try harder to skate… It makes sense to try, to make it all better in the chase for perfect, for papo is never satisfied. Victor knows that he just needs to try a little harder to make it so. Then, papo will definitely be happy. It'll be different.

So when Victor finally learns his first lesson, he's eight going on nine within a few months. Fate has orchestrated that he stands by the exit to the rink that day, talking ceaselessly to Yakov, hands doing as much talking as his mouth. All because this is the day. It's the day when mama has promised and papo has too, and mama said she would bring Rusja as well.

Despite this day full of promises, the mere knowledge of it becoming the greatest day in his life in a matter of minutes, he can't really figure out why Yakov looks like that sometimes. So serious with a face made out of stone, with a hand firmly squeezing his shoulder. Yakov never does that. The squeezing.

Victor starts to think that it's a new thing with Yakov, instead of barking in public his hand does the barking instead. After all, this is a competition, it's supposed to be fun although Yakov, nor his hand, don't see it like that. But to Victor, it will be. He's sure of it.

Victor feels nervous standing there initially, waiting for the other boys to skate their programs. He's nervous because there's a small voice inside that he hasn't really made friends with yet, mainly because it always tells him things he doesn't want to hear. Things that instills doubt in him, things that are harsh and unfriendly, things that he already knows. But suddenly, he fills up with something inside that is close to pride but not quite, because he knows that he will not only amaze the others freezing inside the skating complex. He'll amaze papo.

Victor feels this exhilarating feeling when he notices his family, finally, as they criss cross down to empty seats. Today, his family does indeed mean all of them and not only mama who naturally is the only one waving and smiling from ear to ear, and to be honest, he feels more than pride. He feels warm, despite his sparkly blue costume that is way too thin and flimsy to be able to keep him so.

When his name is called, he doesn't skate straight to the centre of the rink like the others who, probably, have been dying to get their routines over with. He skates by the small flock of people instead, watches how they shiver where they sit, and tries to catch a glance from not only mama and Rusja, he tries to get it from papo too. And he does get it skating past the audience, and although it's a fleeting glance at best before it redirects towards mama, it's an eternity to an eight year old Victor. A Victor who is still full of the hope and forgiveness that children often are. No matter what they've witnessed or been through.

Shortly thereafter, after that glance and his strides to stand in the middle on the ice, his ponytail whips his face as he moves. The music is coursing through him now, taking him over. Victor remembers the program well, and even though it really is a simple thing considering his age, he is adamant as his blades cuts the ice. Today is the day he will satisfy papo. He's going to show him how hard he's been trying. Trying, just for him. To make him happy.

Although Yakov said 'no' numerous times, so many times that Victor has started to think that's his new pet name, Victor has no intention to abide to the word. That's why he lines himself up, passes by the small crowd again to prepare for a Salchow, his eyes scanning the rows of people. It's hard to spot them at first, his family, but not because they are lost in the crowd. No, it's because of them being close to the exit in the back. Once his eyes are on them, they stand out like a light in the dark, an image forever burned upon his retinas.

Victor manages to catch a glimpse of his brother's back before it disappears, rejoining the world outside where blue and blistered feet aren't a part of life. The familiar picture, that of his mother tugging at his father's arm, now with their backs turned to the ice, is what it takes to make Victor decide.

He jumps.

The crowd draws a collective breath as Victor prepares himself for the harsh embrace of the ice, but this time, he finds himself still on his feet and he's almost as amazed as the crowd that begins to clap when they have gathered their bearings. Although Victor should notice the crowd appreciate his endeavours, his eyes aren't taking them in. Instead, he's searching for those familiar shapes. The ones he now cannot find.

When Victor finishes his dance, he cries. He cries when he skates off the ice to meet Yakov and his crushing embrace, he cries when he receives his score, he cries when he's placed in the middle on that poor excuse of a podium. He cries, but it's not because of him managing to do a double salchow, winning that competition, getting attention from everyone watching.

He cries, because he actually managed to do nothing. Nothing that could ever be good enough.

 **-xoxo-**

It's with a sigh Victor rolls over to his back, his eyes trying to see the bumpy structure of the ceiling above him but not making it out. It's dark both inside and out now having revisited that memory, and Victor covers his eyes with his arm for a second or so as he feels that flutter starting.

Victor thought he had gotten rid of it. Or at least, lost it for an indefinite amount of time. That feeling of being small and insignificant, unable to do anything that could ever matter in the eyes of the ones he wants to be watched by.

It's a horrible feeling.

After reaching for his mobile, his fingers doing one hell of a balancing act by pinching it between them and moving it from the nightstand to the bed, he dives underneath his duvet to prevent the bluish light that now lights up his cave from spreading to the outside.

Victor notices the time first, a few minutes to eleven, before he starts to flip through saved photos in the phone's gallery. The images are mostly of Yuuri, naturally, in a myriad of clothed and unclothed variations. A few cute ones of Makkachin are still there even though it still hurts to look at them, and not surprisingly this time too. But, almost as far down in the folder where Victor stores images he's undecided to keep, he sees a photo he instantly knows he'll delete within a few minutes.

He just has to remember how it was, before he does.

 **:: II ::**

Victor is fourteen when he has his fingers tangled up in a girl's hair for the first and last time.

It's an ordinary day at the Yubileyny sport complex, the rink slowly losing its pull as it usually does when it's close to lunch. Most skaters vacate the rink to sit where it's warmer and easier to eat whatever's been brought from home, but not Victor. Not today.

Of course, Victor's almost always asked to come with, to sit in the cafeteria with the other skaters to laugh and gossip and talk technique, and he does that often. He likes to be caught up in others, to be in the centre of attention because that is how he has turned out. Although he's still too young to understand this, he fills himself with others, fills himself with their energy and adoration to get by and he works hard to get it. But every now and then, his Mistress calls him, beckons him to stay within Her cold embrace. When that happens, Victor never declines Her and that's exactly what happens this day, when he's fourteen and by now fully devoted to his relationship with Her. With the ice.

When She calls for him, it usually begins as something as insignificant as a thought, maybe even an indistinct whisper inside himself. Victor hasn't really been able to grasp what brings it on, but he's felt it enough times to know that he needs to listen. She always starts low, and maybe Her calling is what makes him act flippant and defiant. Maybe, She's what makes him not listen to Yakov even though the man's face is red, knuckles whitening and voice rising, but Victor can't help it. When She tells him to do, he does because She becomes all and everything inside him and... it usually ends well. Usually.

This time, She started to prod him when he was working on spins, asking him to push a little more. Asking him to make him worth Her while. That's why the Biellmann turns into something more dramatic, and it's probably the reason why Yakov cries in a way that almost takes away the attention that should be directed at Victor. Which, naturally, makes Victor do that death drop sit spin with Yakov's voice barely audible although he's probably screaming at the top of his lungs. Yakov's face looks agitated enough as he flashes by with every rotation, much to Victor's amusement.

Victor's Mistress, though, She mellows out after that display, that exhibition of what blooms inside him but still tries to break through completely. She's content and becomes nothing but a murmur as the rink is buzzing and Yakov's close to shrieking. Victor's laugh drowns Her out a little, his response to Yakov's growls once he steps off the ice, as he becomes caught up in the flood of other skaters who are ready to fill themselves with enough energy to last a few more hours.

When they've had a conversation, The Ice and himself, Victor often opts out from being social. It's like their discussions have an aftermath, where he needs to sit in silence for a while. Contemplate what he's done with Her help, what her words made him do. This is why he finds himself alone now, sitting close by the boards with his backpack next to him. After taking off his gloves, he untagles his hair from his hair tie and leaves it around his wrist for later, pulling back the sections that fall down in front of his face. Tucking them behind his ear again and again, whilst opening up his backpack and picks out his thermos.

The soup steams when he pours it into the lid, now a makeshift cup, and he blows on it to cool it off although he knows that it'll be just right in a minute or so. He just likes to do that, keep himself just slightly busy as he waits for things to happen. Waits for another cue from Her.

Just as he nips at the soup over the rim of his cup, he is startled.

"Quite a show. Well done," is what he hears. But what startles Victor isn't the words per se, it's the volume of them. How they are spoken outside himself.

It's not his Mistress this time.

He doesn't turn his head to see who's addressing him. Instead he closes his eyes, feels the savory taste of his soup in his mouth before he answers.

"Glad you liked it."

He hears steps, it's more like small skips really, behind him until he feels her standing next to him. Foal-like legs in fur-lined boots is what he sees once he bothers to look through the corner of his eye, before she sits down.

"So you're Victor," she says, and this is when Victor becomes interested. Interested enough to really turn his head, but not quite to ask her name in return.

He sees locks of brown hair wrestle their way out of a purple hat, amber eyes looking straight at him. They belong to a girl, no, a young woman is probably more apt. A young woman with a smile that can mean many, many things. Things Victor still haven't had the time to acquaint himself with.

"I used to skate here," she says when she realises that Victor's not impressed by her worldly knowledge, "but I quit. I'm just here to pick up my things."

Those words are strange to Victor, for he himself cannot picture a life without skating, without eyes on him, the energy of others filling him up. Without the love affair he has with The Ice. Naturally, he asks, and it's nothing but a simple question to some. But to a skater, it's really all and everything, a question any aspiring athlete can ask himself from time to time.

"Why?" is what Victor asks, and he has to wait a while for she sits quiet at first, then laughs a little, almost to herself before she answers.

"There are more things to life than _skating_ , you know."

Victor stifles what pops up in his mind and on his tongue. He does so because She's speaking to him again, implores him to defend her colours. ' _So, you're probably not a good skater, then,'_ is what he wants to say, for it's the only explanation his fourteen year old mind can come up with, the only reason why one would turn Her away. Instead, he huffs a laugh because what she just said, not his Mistress that speaks inside but this wayward daughter of Hers next to him, is just the stupidest thing he's heard all day. And he's been listening to Yakov. All day.

"You'll figure it out," she says, her eyes trailing off from Victor's blue across the rink. Her gaze lingers on the ice for a bit, just enough to make Victor feel like she's told him the biggest lie only seconds ago. A lie she, too, knows is a lie.

"There's nothing but skating," Victor says then, after downing a mouthful of soup. Still somewhat befuddled and annoyed at her for trying to draw new maps for him, make him question what he knows. But he slips due to that annoyance, allows his Mistress to talk in his stead. "That's what losers say. Maybe you should try harder."

The young woman looks at him again, eyes blown up and lips slightly apart.

People tend to react to _Her_ words like that, becoming nothing less than gobsmacked and at a loss for words. Victor is certain that it is because they're true, but there's a sting inside when he becomes laughed at, when his conversational partner's voice echoes throughout the rink. It's not enough for him to question anything of his Mistress' teachings, but that laugh that doesn't need words to say that he's nothing but a silly boy to her and, oh, it _hurts_.

Victor can feel himself frowning as her laughter dies down. Almost into his cup, he scowls, "Then tell me what there is, _if_ you're so smart."

The young woman adjusts her hat, slightly askew since she tossed her head back and really went in for that laugh, and turns a little. As if to face him.

"Well," she says, "you're too young to understand."

Her hand is on Victor's shoulder now, and Victor recognises that hand. It's a hand elders use when trying to talk sense into a person. He scoffs at her.

"Hey," she continues, "even if you're too young to understand—"

She leans in a bit and Victor automatically puts his hands up, his cup balancing precariously on his lap. He doesn't know why, but it's just one of those automatic reactions a person has sometimes, maybe it's to ward himself. Strange, really, because she's nothing he's afraid of. Annoyed at, yes, but nothing else.

Victor feels her hair against his open palms and fingers, it weaves itself in between them and tickles them. It's soft. He feels her lips on his. They're soft too.

"—you'll understand soon enough," she smiles as she leans back, corrects her hat once again, and stands up.

"What's your name?" Victor asks, voice low, trying to break through that mist of confusion she's brought upon him.

"Yana," she replies.

And with that, the foal-like legs in the fur-lined boots are skipping off across the rows of seats, heading for the locker rooms. Heading out to what one could expect to be greener pastures.

Victor can't sleep that night when he returns to his little cardboard box of a room at school. He can't sleep, for that kiss made him feel nothing at all.

 **-xoxo-**

When Victor emerges from underneath his duvet, the brief glare of the mobile screen lights up his side of the bed. It's almost like a lighthouse, signalling to others fumbling around to watch out and stay away from what's happening around that light. He hurries to put the screen-side of his mobile phone down against his chest as he scrambles to find the power button. His eyes need a bit of time adjusting now, the absence of light bringing a new dignity to the dark.

It's pitch black for a while before contours of their bedroom start to form before Victor's eyes, the almost skulking shadows from seconds before becoming more clear and defined with every breath. Victor remains like that, on his back and slowly breathing with his phone against his chest, until he can see the opposite wall, adorned with photos and medals and plaques. When he sees it, he soundlessly sneaks out of bed and heads out the bedroom door on light feet.

He needs to drink. That flutter inside feels like it's fanning a flame, one that makes him dry on the inside.

The stream that runs from faucet is thin and makes almost no sound at all as it hits the sink. Victor is ready with a glass in his hand, but allows a lone finger assess the temperature of the water before he collects some and downs it.

Victor leans back at the marble countertop and places the glass down on the surface with a clink. With a sigh, he turns on his mobile phone anew and studies the photo again. The photo of Yana's obituary.

It's somewhat of a mystery, really. Even though she's been gone for quite some time now, lost to the world at twenty-six, he's still kept it. Stranger still is the fact that he felt like he needed to keep it in the first place. They only met properly that one time, when her lips touched his, but, for some reason, that encounter gained importance to him over the years. Became invaluable when some pieces suddenly started to nudge themselves into place for him. Of course he didn't know it then, being fourteen and full of things that he really can't find himself to care about as much anymore, that the brief encounter with her would teach him more than he would ever expect it to. Or maybe, he did know. Maybe, it just wasn't important to think about such things back then, such as cause and effect and fate and its consequences, whilst trying to dominate the world.

And now, as Victor's finger is close to the trashcan icon in his gallery, he realises that the now blurry image that has survived more mobile phones than he can count. With every new mobile phone, Yana's description of her time on earth has lost more of its resolution and clarity. Even though the text is nothing but a heavily compressed blur, making him almost unable to read the text although he squints and zooms in, he can cite it by heart.

To think that love can do that as well. Take a life, just like that.

Victor scoffs a little, standing there in just his underwear with the edge of the marble countertop pressing into his lower back. _Of course, meeting you was important_ , he mouths to himself, _even then_.

"Thanks," he says slightly louder, his voice soft, as his finger makes contact with the screen. "You showed me the way."

Victor turns a little on his feet, decided on returning back to the haven underneath the duvet. The harbor made by Yuuri's frame. But as he walks, makes himself ready to round the corner and take the few steps necessary to reach the bedroom, he stops outside another door. One that is closed.

He's sure he heard a clink.

 **:: III ::**

Victor is twenty one when he invites a person home to spend the night.

It's stupid, really, how it comes about, all because of his skating club overbooked its master class sessions. Overbooked it to the extent that the surplus guests are forced to find other means of accommodation, even though the event is an annual happening. This year, it seemingly caught everyone by surprise.

Victor is on the ice when he hears the discussions and sees the snow globe sized drama play out by the boards. As always, Yakov is impossible to ignore when he's in that mood which is why Victor listens intently and just glides around, making indistinct patterns on the ice instead of something extravagant, until the noise by the boards becomes more like grunts, huffs and scoffs. Until those paperclipped pages aren't being waved around like some bad replica of a gymnastics ribbon.

He knows Yakov's done by then, when the coach's excessive arm waving, loud words and firm company have become scarce, finally, and exchanged for other means of showing discontent. He knows that's when one usually can approach Yakov and subtly pitch in other things, such as ideas, opinions or wants.

"So," Victor laughs as approaches the boards, seeing the club's higher-ups leave the rink like a stampeding herd in search of the next proverbial watering hole, "how many?"

Leaning against the boards with his hips, he sees Yakov's jaw become tense upon asking the question, that sinew almost popping out of the side of the man's neck. Victor wonders if he really hears the screeching sound of teeth being pressed and ground together, but before he dives further into that thought, Yakov interrupts him.

"Three," is what Yakov says, and it really sounds more like a groan than anything else. After a slight pause, and a much bigger sigh, he adds, "Girls. Juniors."

"You've always been a good samaritan," Victor replies flippantly, even though the laugh that threatens to burst out of him is giving him a run for his money. Yakov housing three girls under the age of sixteen? Hell, that is a weekend Victor would chop off an arm and a leg, _easily_ , to be able to witness first hand. But instead of rubbing it in, he humors Yakov, allows his coach to feel like his student is in fact showing his plight some respect at least. "So, it's all fixed now?" Victor asks, sliding the pages Yakov's holding on to out of his grip.

Instead of saying anything, Yakov gives him that stare. The one that means that he's probably asked a really stupid question, one that is horrifyingly close to not be dignified with an answer.

"No," Yakov mutters like it wasn't obvious already, hands finding their way into the pockets of his coat instead, now that they're freed from the few pages with names upon names, all those problems to be solved.

Victor eyes the pages, not really paying attention to the columns of names that have been crossed out. It's more for show, to make Yakov feel a little more at ease about his forced-upon agreement made with the representatives of the club. In fact, Victor's not really interested in this master class weekend, he's more interested in—

"Yakov," Victor says, his heart suddenly picking up pace inside his chest, "I… I can have someone at my place. If it makes stuff easier."

—the hours not spent in the rink. That weekend, at least.

Yakov frowns a little then, but instead of saying anything, he reaches for the paperclipped pages and gives them a pull, one that's just enough for Victor to release them. A stout finger starts to trail down the page Victor has been studying, jumping a bit more quickly between names that aren't already crossed out.

How strange it may seem, Victor is holding his breath. Maybe, Yakov won't say anything. Maybe, Yakov won't read into what he'll undoubtedly find. Maybe, Yakov won't be anything than his coach for once and give him this without discussion.

The scoff that follows shortly thereafter, makes Victor understand that maybe, Yakov won't do or be any of those things.

"Is that really a good idea?" is all Yakov says, but to a twenty two year old Victor who has to look him straight in the eye, Yakov is actually saying so much more.

Victor tries to disregard that, the things both said and unsaid, as he straightens his back and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He's not sure if he wants to come across as defiant, but he really wants Yakov to understand the unreasonable. By asking that question, Yakov could just as well have asked if things such as breathing is a good idea. It's something one needs, just as well as Victor knows he needs _that._

"Yes," Victor says, his shoulders square, feeling confident. Feeling sure. "I have room."

"Vic—"

"I'll text him," Victor says, his hand diving into the pocket of his puffer vest whilst trying to keep his voice steady, "and the club will thank me for doing what's not expected of me. For once."

The rattling of Victor's skate guards are the only noise heard as he walks away, his head bent down and eyes glued to the screen on his phone. He raises his gaze eventually, but not before a 'yes' on his screen burns into his retinas, creating infinite scenarios as well as hopes and dreams.

And after that 'yes', it doesn't take long before Victor finds himself in his flat. He's on his sofa, hair still damp, trying to relax but that leg that's bouncing in short, erratic intervals doesn't help him calm himself down even the slightest.

Ever since that text was sent at the rink, shortly after he declared to Yakov that he was going to do just that, he's been feeling self-conscious for some reason, nervous in a way that feels new to him. At the same time, though, there's something else that manifests inside him. Something he has found harder and harder to control. Something that, and it's really Victor's best attempt of describing what happens inside to himself, wants out.

He takes up his phone from the pocket of his sweats although he knows that no new messages have made the phone buzz against his leg, but it feels better to have that continuous and steady watch over the device. Even if it's just to realise that time, when waiting, moves torturously slow. 18:36 is what the phone claims the time to be, this time too.

Victor barely feels the gentle shoves Makkachin does to his hand in order to make him pet him, but miraculously enough, his leg stops with its nervous oscillations. Not because of how his hand almost automatically takes to the habit of stroking the dog's head with long, slow movements, but rather, how he becomes fettered by thoughts instead, locking his body into place in that light gray sofa.

What Victor's mind can't seem to let go is the situation he now finds himself in. Ever since he bought his flat, which isn't too long ago but enough to make him feel that it really is his home, it's been no one but him sleeping there. Or, truth be told, him _and_ Makkachin. Though, he doesn't know how it came to be just them, that his flat morphed into a place people just won't get leisurely invited to. But now, he has invited someone and that must mean something. He just can't figure out why that is, the origin of that decision and what made him go against himself. For, truth be told, a lot of things can be said about certain actions being done, but there's more information in actions that never get the chance to be just that, the ones that aren't allowed to bloom into something overtly manifested.

The muted chime from the door sends Victor's heart up though his body, until it settles somewhere in his throat. The way it's violently beating against the thin skin makes Victor put a palm against the side of his neck, feeling every throb reverberate inside him. Firing him up with blood that runs not only hot, but scorching.

Standing up, Victor suddenly feels lightheaded. He tries to swallow as he runs a hand through his hair, his legs suddenly in control of his entire being, for he moves closer to the door without having a say. He tries to breathe when his hand rests on the handle, but it's just not enough. Not deep enough, not calming enough, even though he stands with his lips slightly apart, trying to get more air inside him.

His hand doesn't care about such trivial things, though, for it pushes down on the handle and opens the door.

"Hi," Victor hears, as if though water. Fathoms and fathoms deep, himself being even deeper down in a trench of disbelief.

"Hi," be begins, drowning in that cheeky smile and dark eyes. Drowning in those waves of promises, crashing over him. "Come in," he continues after a beat or many, and he feels embarrassed that his voice doesn't sound breezy or even blasé. That side to him is undoubtedly gone now, lost with every woosh in his ears that his heated blood creates. Washed away and lost at the sea that is inside of him.

"Nice place," Victor hears, his eyes latched onto the back that creates an arch as the shoes are removed, a slight curve as the coat is taken off. "Can I…"

Victor absentmindedly hums a response, holding on to that discarded coat as his guest walks inside, turns the corner and becomes someone who is there, but out of sight.

The coat smells of him, the guest, a mix of scents both fleeting and thick around the back of the collar. It's so different from his own, Victor realises, whilst slowly burying his nose into the black fabric and takes a deep breath. As he holds it in, he sees images flash before his eyes. Images he haven't dared to ever see, their consequences forbidden to think about.

Now, he knows why the invite came about, what he wants or hopes, rather, that the weekend will give him.

He manages to part with the coat, putting it on the same hook as his own, as he leaves what he sees inside himself. The next view he's met by makes him long for the safety of that corner, the heady dream of that scented collar. There's just something that strikes him, seeing another man play with his dog. Another man in his home. Another man, together with him, like it's the most sensible thing in the world.

"W-want a coffee or something?" Victor asks, and oh, the how it feels to have those words roll off his tongue!

"Thank you," the guest replies as he stands, leaving Makkachin belly side up on the floor, paws flailing uncontrollably with a lolling tongue close to touching the floor.

It's silent when Victor makes the coffee. Yes, the silence is thick as he's measuring the water, putting in the coffee filter, scooping up coffee from that awkwardly childish metal tin and, finally, pressing the 'on'-button. But, as soon as the coffee maker starts to pop and steam, so does he.

It starts with a wayward finger, barely touching the hand of his guest because that is all he dares to try. It's silly, really, having touched his body before both off the ice and on, in various levels of being clothed but still, he feels so insecure. So lost to something bigger.

 _It's not the same_ , Victor thinks to himself, and there's almost like something clicks into place then. It really isn't the same, the playful touches on the ice, the banter between them during shows, the visions of him undressing after a competition, as what the both of them are experiencing now. This is true. This is real. This is just… between them.

His guest huffs a laugh and inches his hand away upon feeling that ghost of a touch. Victor's level of uncertainty waxes then, builds until he dares to look into those dark eyes that are narrow now, smiling.

"You're not a good host," his guest snickers, "let me have my coffee first."

Those seconds of silence that multiply between them ends with the both of them laughing in unison, both of them falling into it as if given a signal. Victor can only imagine what his guest must be thinking, and he wonders if it's even remotely similar to what swirls around in his own head. Victor feels that he's not any less self-conscious or nervous now, but somehow, it's easier to stand there before him. It's easier because he, his guest, knows, understands and reads into the action made by that lone finger. They've reached something mutual.

Still laughing, Victor walks towards the cupboard and picks out two cups that are new, probably still unused because they're made to be a pair with their patterns and colours complimenting each other, weaving into each other and continuing back and forth. Cups he thought were the stupidest house-warming present when he once received them. Now, they've soared to become the best house-warming gift he's ever got.

His hand is shaking when he fills them both, and gives one of the cups a gentle nudge towards his company. Picking it up and handing it over would reveal the tension he has inside, so he opts out just to nurture some of his dignity.

When the two of them head for the sofa, warming their hands around the cups filled with coffee, Victor can't deny how good it feels. Not just the warming of hands, but everything else as well. How he can dare to sit close with his legs touching someone else's, how it is suddenly simple to just reach out and touch and allow the hand to linger. How an arm around his shoulders feels normal and okay.

They haven't finished their cups of coffee when Victor's guest wants to use the bathroom and does so without locking or even closing the door, making Victor stand by the doorway.

 _You look good in my bathroom_ , is what Victor wants to say as his guest flushes the toilet and continues to wash his hands, but the words won't come out. He's completely taken with what he sees, like there's a mesmerising alternate universe he's suddenly gazing into, like he's went through the looking glass to the other side where everything just fits.

"Victor," his guest interrupts him, doing a small come-hither motion with his hand.

Standing in front of the mirror, seeing that, seeing _them_ , sparks something inside him. It's like his blood has been ignited again, the image of them standing next to each other, a hand finding its way up his shirt, acts the match that lights him up anew.

When Victor is set ablaze, the fire always spreads.

 **-xoxo-**

When Victor breaks free from that memory, he finds himself with his hand on the handle to the bathroom door. He must have opened it and stepped inside whilst being lost in that flurry of thoughts and images inside, and he finds it incredibly strange to be standing there like he does. Inside the bathroom, with his hand still on the handle like it's a lifeline. A way to pull himself back, out into the life he now has. The life he's eternally grateful for.

Victor dares to let go of the handle, though, and takes the few steps needed to reach the bathroom mirror. He's changed it since then, since that encounter that made him realise what he was and what he couldn't, or shouldn't, pursue.

For that is how he remembers it at least, the encounter with Konstantin. How their moving, their desperate fucking on the basin made the mirror come loose, and how it created a sound that he still hears from time to time. The sound that probably made him take a peek inside. The sound that he thinks he hears just to remind himself who he really is, what he's gone through to get where he is and the things he's learned since then. That _clink_.

He doesn't blame Konstantin for what happened afterwards, he's never been able to although he probably should to some extent. How that encounter opened up to many, many more although not specifically with Konstantin. How that encounter taught him to be cautious. How that encounter—

Victor brusquely turns on the faucet and collects water into his open hands, diving into them again and again and again. This is something he doesn't want to remember, but once that thought gets a hold of him, it doesn't let him go. It branches out, making any possible try to disconnect with it a way to become even more entangled and ensnared.

—made him choose the Ice again.

Water is dripping off of Victor's chin when he raises his head, when he sees that dark, monochrome reflection of himself looking back.

Yes, he chose the ice after that and although it tears inside him, he remembers the choice made. How the scales of his life began to tip in Her favor again, all because of Konstantin. Victor thinks that it has got to do with what Konstantin said, after they had showered and had moved to his bed that, back then, was too narrow for two.

Victor dries his face by patting it dry with a towel, neatly folded close to the basin, and he can't help that wry smile that takes over his face. The smile that is more bitter than sweet, the smile he gets when he suddenly remembers the comment Yakov made the following day, on that weekend so many years ago.

' _You're more focused now, Victor. Good, remember this feeling!'_

That time, Yakov really proved that he didn't know shit.

After all, 'This _won't work,'_ is what Konstantin had whispered, his fingers tangled up in Victor's hair. ' _You know that, right?'_

To be honest, Victor knew. Although Victor wanted it, the sense of normalcy, the sense of closeness, the sense of just being loved for who and not what he was, he _knew_. Shortly after that, the choice was made for he had signed himself over to his Mistress again and, rightly so, for the wins started to line up and crowd each other, carrying on through to the next season, and the next, and the next. The wins also made him more devoted to Her but strangely enough, more lost in the process.

Indeed, Yakov doesn't know shit at times, often mistaking the need to forget for focus and zeal.

Thinking about his coach's not so able sides, and his own back then, makes Victor unaware of the fact that he exited the bathroom. The door remains slightly open as he, instead of heading back to the bedroom as he initially planned, ends up on the sofa. It's a habit still alive despite the fact, the way he's sitting as close as he can against the armrest, waiting for the company that will never join him again.

Victor feels his lower lip vibrate as he tucks his legs underneath himself, for as annoying Yakov has been throughout his career, Makkachin never made that mistake. Makkachin, who always saw right through him.

 **:: IV ::**

Victor is nothing but a few breaths from turning twenty six when he's convinced to hang in there for one more season.

Quitting is a thought that, in all honesty, he's been toying with back and forth for maybe the last year or so. Although he can't quite pinpoint exactly what made it come to him in the first place, that thought is one that seems to come more often now than before and especially when it doesn't feel easy. And today really hasn't been an easy day.

Victor thinks about it when he unlocks his front door and steps inside, how some days are easier than others. Normally, he wouldn't mind being shrieked whilst skating, getting an earful from Yakov about how he _never listens_ , how he _needs to come down to earth_ , how he _needs to stop thinking that everything is about him_.

Normally, he wouldn't mind the questions posed by the skaters who are brave enough to talk to him. Asking him the same never ending questions about him, his plans and his personal life. What he does to constantly stay on top.

Normally, he wouldn't care about not getting much attention from actual people on his birthday instead of the normal barrage that comes with the anonymous people behind the screen names on social media.

Normally, he wouldn't listen to Her and the whispers, the ones that usually leaves him be as soon as he gets home and tries to live that other life where Her could haves, would haves, should haves don't have that much of a say.

This day, though, is one when everything he tries to keep on the outside goes straight in. Strange that, how a win when he was younger sent him up through the air until he reached a high that was impossible to come down from and now… it feels like a loss carrying gold, standing in the middle on top of a podium only tethers him closer to the ground, opening up a passageway straight to his heart for anything and anyone that wants to take a shot at him. Like gold doesn't matter anymore.

Victor absentmindedly leaves his luggage by the door and shrugs out of his coat. His gloves receives a similar treatment as they're left somewhere on the floor next to his shoes, wet from the snow outside.

It usually feels good to come home, to close that door behind him and leave the world outside where it is and should be. To become surrounded by the familiar smells, the silence, but... once the outside has begun to find its way in, home doesn't feel like the sanctuary it's meant to be. It's not at all the place where he can be the Victor no one knows about. The place where he can finally be himself.

The coffeemaker is the first thing he turns on this time getting home, even before the lights. As it does its little concert, sounds made by the water up being heated before the coffee becomes soaked inside the filter, he retreats to the sofa across the room and buries himself underneath a woolen blanket. Pressing up against the armrest with legs folded underneath himself.

The gentle tapping of claws against the wooden floor is something Victor loves, it brings to mind memories and secrets shared just between the two of them. Today, though, he doesn't hear the rhythmic click-clack, nor does he react to the shifting of the sofa's cushions as he becomes joined in his not so constructive pondering.

It takes a few tries with that paw touching his thigh, barely felt by Victor, but the spell he's under becomes broken for a few seconds at least.

"Not now, Makkachin," Victor says in a distracted manner, now lost between here and there, torn between the way his inside and the outside suddenly seem like mirrors of one another.

"Not _now_ , Makkachin!" Victor says, firmer this time, and gets to his feet. He wants that cup of coffee, hoping that the hot liquid somehow can wash away, no, burn away what he's starting to feel is building inside his throat.

The click-clack sounds follows him, though. From the sofa onto the floor, continuing on towards the cupboard where they create a staccato of eagerness. They continue on with this upped pace, set on rounding the kitchen island, and finally, back again towards the sofa where they slow down.

When Victor finally sits down again, huddling underneath that blanket with the contents of his cup almost sloshing over the rim, he's not alone.

Victor soon understands that he needs to give up that balancing act. With a frown, he puts his cup on the coffee table for the nose that is trying to make contact with him is adamant. Not until the cup is out of his hand, and especially not until he starts stroking that soft fur, fingers raking through it every now and then and getting stuck in the curls, does the nose cease its attempts to gain his attention.

Something happens then, when the contact between man and dog recommences. When the connection between a reluctant speaker and a constantly avid listener grows stronger.

"How was your weekend then? Ekaterina gave you a good dinner tonight, right? Took you for a walk after? I heard you ran loose in the park. Yeah, that was nice, huh?" Victor mumbles between the strokes, his mind led away from his previous torture.

They sit like that for a while, Victor mumbling small nothings whilst stroking Makkachin and Makkachin allowing Victor to at least taste the coffee off and on before coaxing him into touching him again. That nose is beyond stubborn when it shoves and digs its way underneath his arm, demanding but kind.

And then, after that fifty second stroke or so, something happens inside Victor when he's playing with some of the curls at the back of Makkachin's head, almost behind one of the ears.

"I don't think I… want to do this anymore," Victor whispers, eyes stuck to the window behind the TV.

It's so soft, that voice of his, but nevertheless, he notices that Makkachin's ears raise up a bit through the corner of his eye.

"Yeah... crazy, huh?" he sighs. "I… I don't know. There must be something… after? Right?"

Makkachin shifts in the silence that follows, and soon thereafter, Victor's thighs becomes heated up by the poodle's head now tilted to the side and placed on his lap with a sigh. That nose, previously so uncompromising, doesn't demand anything in that moment. Instead, the dog just breathes. Long and slow inhales and warm and just as slow exhales onto the skin of Victor's stomach. The huffs are calming, amplified by the way the dark eyes make contact Victor's on occasion.

It's as if this quiet moment, this opportunity undoubtedly created for Victor by Makkachin, makes Victor _say it_.

"I'm not sure I want to skate anymore, Makka."

Victor knows that his dog probably knows more than he can understand, but one thing that is certain is the fact that Makkachin doesn't understand the more intricate parts of the Russian language. Even so, Makkachin sits up when Victor whispers that, when he's testing those unspeakable words and allows them to be released into the world for the very first time.

"Don't look at me like that," Victor lovingly scolds. Even though he says it as a joke, there's a hint of seriousness in there. Especially after a weekend, no, a lifetime of being judged, he has to face the same treatment from his unconditional companion.

He reaches out, trying to rub Makkachin's ear but the dog backs up and becomes out of reach, his head tilted to the side as he watches his master.

"What?" Victor asks despite the sting, "Are you going to have opinions about me, too?"

Victor straightens himself a little where he sits. The impulse to get to his feet, to put that cup with coffee that's too cold to drink away and head for the shower suddenly becomes interrupted as Makkachin comes close. It's like the poodle sits next to Victor but leans in somehow, with his paw making pressure against Victor's thigh and his head put across Victor's shoulder as if to invite him into an embrace.

So, Victor does. He shoots into that embrace, arms around the back of his dog as his cheeks dive into the curly fur.

"Please hang in there for one more season, Makka," Victor sobs, "then I promise it'll be... just you and me."

Victor can't actually remember the last time he cried, but in that sofa, a few minutes past midnight and a few minutes into his twenty sixth birthday, he does. Not because he's sad, that feeling dissipated some heartbeats ago, but rather, because he feels like he's finally understood.

 **-xoxo-**

Victor lets out a stuttering breath as he comes back to the here and now. Thinking of Makkachin still hurts, naturally, and this memory is particularly painful. There were so many layers to that exchange, how it seemed like Makka actually understood everything that played out that night although it was impossible for him to, and how he acted and reacted accordingly to that. How Makkachin, with his limited means of communication said and did exactly enough. More than most people, for that matter.

 _I miss him so much_ , Victor thinks to himself, the back of his hand gliding underneath his eyes, for this is one of those exact moments in time where Makka would know and do nothing but the right things. Makka would ask for pets and hugs, nicely at first and become more demanding with every shunned attempt.

Because that's how he was, Makkachin. Giving his master nothing but a few tries to pull together before telling him what to do, never thinking of giving up on leading his master out on the other side. And, _gods_ , what if it had been just slightly different that night? What if Makkachin hadn't come close as if to comfort him, helped him making that decision to continue one more season, one more year? Then, this night would be so completely different. Hell, the last three years would have been. The rest of his life too, no doubt.

For the first time since he got to bed and received a kiss goodnight, Victor feels a warmness spreading out inside his chest. It's as if his heart is helping out, spreading the warmth with its steady beats until he doesn't feel the need to shudder underneath that blanket anymore.

Victor realises then, maybe for the first time, that Makkachin gave him all of it. The drive to skate another season and with it, the strange happenstance of meeting Yuuri which in turn opened up to other possibilities. Also; the dramatic way he and his student were forced closer to each other by being apart, all orchestrated by Makkachin being a thieving glutton, all of which culminated in this; the flat not being empty anymore, a golden ring on his finger, a bed that goes from warm to molten.

When the warmth pulsates further and reaches Victor's face, he smiles. It's not that supernova smile he knows keeps bringing his fiancé to his knees, in more ways than one, mind. No, it's that smile he shared with no one but Makkachin. The one that is obsolete now. That bittersweet smile of knowing that the only way he's ever been understood and respected and treated no differently, whole-heartedly so, until now is… because he bought it and brought it home when it was ten weeks old.

"Fuck," Victor whispers and stands up, the blanket falling into a crumpled heap on the floor with a low rustle. He knows what that's all about, that voice that fills him with doubt. It's the one who acts as a counterweight to Her, his Mistress, the one that started to take Her place once he had started to doubt Her, make himself free of Her. The one that have been telling him that he's going to grow old alone, become forgotten, stay unloved.

Strangely enough, that makes Victor a heartbeat from sprinting into his bedroom, yearning to leave those thoughts behind. He stifles the urge, the one that tells him to throw himself onto the bed in the hopes of colliding with Yuuri, becoming one with him for a few seconds as gravity and speed forces them together. Instead, he walks back towards the bedroom, not without a hurry, until he stands by the foot of the bed, silently watching.

Yuuri resembles something very relaxed when he sleeps. A dog upside down, or maybe even a cat. He didn't at first, but those two years spent sharing a bed, a flat, a life together has made Yuuri sprawl out. Take more and more space. Claim what Victor think is rightfully his to claim, truth be told.

So, Victor crawls into bed and as he does, magic couldn't even start to describe the way it seems like Yuuri just knows that he's back. How he contracts and balls himself up, until he finally stays still on his side, his back turned to Victor. Inviting him in, asking him to join him and get close. Asking him to leave what's not made to fit in their bed, in their life, behind.

Victor does join Yuuri, erases every possible space between them as his cool front meets with Yuuri's warm back. Their bodies are fitting together like the puzzle they are, with their individual pieces becoming more scarce and turning into shared ones, mutual ones.

As Victor's nose just lands into that black hair that smells of citrus shampoo from Japan and Russian winter winds, he realises that the thoughts are still there, still catching up to him, still trying to make him remember his insecurities, his bad choices, his unwanted sacrifices, his—

" _V-Vityusha?_ "

—never ending love for the safekeeper of his heart. The one that once gave him solace by telling him that he needed to be nothing but himself.

Words he, just now, has started to understand.

 **:: V ::**

Victor is twenty seven when that restlessness he's always felt finally stops for a beat.

Victor thinks about it one night, still wide awake in that banquet room gone private just for him, even though the Katsuki family and their patrons have gone to bed. The inn is quiet and the only sounds heard are chirp-chirps of cicadas and the occasional, hollow clank of the _souzu_ , one of the few words that he actually remembers in Japanese. All because he really liked the sound the see-sawing bamboo makes in the garden.

He's been in Japan for a bit more than a month already, close to two, and spring is slowly turning into summer with warm and salty winds coursing through the small coastal town that is Hasetsu. If Victor should describe his experience so far, he would say that Japan is different. Or, rather, the feeling he has _inside_ when he's in Japan is different. In truth, it doesn't matter how many kilometres he puts between himself and the country he was born in, because he always feels the chains of toil when being home, expectations weighing heavy on his shoulders, like life is a constant masquerade to partake in. A calling that beckons, cries and charms its way back.

Of course, there are benefits too, benefits that really doesn't do anything for _him_ , Victor. Instead, those benefits cater to the Living Legend. In Japan, though, there's none of that, no toil, no expectations, no masquerade. No callings.

Strange really.

It wasn't like that in the beginning though, when he appeared at Yutopia like a sprightly spring gale, expecting things to _happen_ in his life, having spent hours and hours on the plane from Helsinki playing with countless scenarios of things playing out in his favor, and yet, all he was faced with was surprise and a slight standoffishness from the person that had invited him there once he arrived. Retrospectively, it felt stupid to have made that choice to just get there, to Japan, since it resulted in him, at least once, having tears rolling down his cheeks whilst trying to sleep. Alone, shunned and misunderstood. Never had Victor felt so unwelcome, his talents so useless, his mere presence so obsolete. Making him wish for Her and Her cold embrace.

That banquet, almost six months ago now, had promised much, and the contrasts to what was said and done then with the actions and lack of words upon his arrival and the weeks that followed, made him think that it might have been a dream after all. Being asked to come to Japan. To take a _season off_. To _coach_. All whilst a frantic pelvis was rubbing up on him for everyone to see, awakening what he's been keeping safe and suppressed from himself and others.

But, things have indeed changed and this last week has been… Victor tries to choose an appropriate word for himself as he reaches for his mobile phone to check the time but fails, not because it's quite a lot past midnight but because he finds it impossible to dress that feeling inside his chest in words.

All of this started with a talk on the beach as a try to poke a hole through Yuuri's defenses. Yuuri had been isolating himself, making it difficult to do anything productive with his skating. Almost resembling something scared and feral in the way he kept slipping out of Victor's grasp, or line of sight at least, throwing bad excuses around himself which Victor decided to respect, somewhat.

Even if the talk started with having all the focus on Yuuri, it surprisingly ended up with Victor being told to be no one else but himself. It's a big thing to ask of someone who doesn't know that for sure, but since it was asked with a fervor, Victor kind of understands that it's an important thing to be oneself. At least to Yuuri.

And if Victor could take the time to slow down, to take the time to be completely honest with himself, he would agree that it's important to himself, too. But unsurmountable. Almost impossible.

"How to be myself… huh?" Victor whispers to himself as he rolls over to his side, pulling the duvet closer around himself, moving Makkachin around a little as he does.

What came after that had actually stung a bit, hearing that Yuuri had looked up to him. What does this shy and introverted skater from Japan really know when it comes to what he's been looking up to? After all, Victor knows that no one knows him, really. There's an air of mystique around him, the _Living Legend_ , but no one knows, bothers nor cares to find out what it is like to be _Victor Nikiforov_. The one who sits by the beach and feels scared all of a sudden, so scared that he gives a bullshit answer about not being easy on his student because that is how he'll show him his love.

 _Oh, the love I want to show him, but_ , Victor thinks to himself as he sits up, pulling his knees up to his chest, _there's something else too._

And just like that, Victor gets lost in memory of their skating session, held a bit later the same week. How he had gotten tired doing repetition after repetition for Yuuri was insatiable. Willing to learn. Demanding in every sense of the word. And then, it happened.

The Touch.

All touches on the ice are used to correct and bend and enhance what's already there, at least between coach and student. Any other touch would be wrong. Victor knows this although he's stepped over the line himself with his student, which he has felt the consequences of time and time again during the weeks that have passed since. But that touch, made by a lone finger making contact with the crown of his head, was nothing like that. It was a bridge being built, a promise, an invitation for Victor to understand that he's on a journey too.

Victor knows he's always been accused by people close to him saying that he's always pleasing himself, not paying attention to other people's needs before his own, but that really isn't the truth. For as whimsical as Victor knows people see him as, the whimsy isn't a selfish need, nor an egotistical trait. It's a desperation, brought on by an inner unrest that he tries to feed and sate by acting on immediately. It really is a feeling of being hollow, vast and empty and being on a constant hunt. Hoping that something might fill that void.

As Victor stretches out his legs and arms, mewling softly as some of his joints pop a little as his body puts itself back into place, he realises that the feeling in his chest is something else. It's an un-feeling of sorts for the void is not there anymore, or rather, it's there but not caving in. It's silent inside, its expansion halted.

"Are you there?" Victor says out loud whilst his hands are raking back his hair. "Or are we done with each other, you think? Are you going to let me go?"

Surprisingly or not, the answer Victor waited for never came.

 **-xoxo-**

"Mmm," Victor hums, his voice disappearing into Yuuri's hair, "I'm here. Go back to sleep."

"Why are you—" Yuuri mumbles into his pillow before a yawn garbles his voice, making Victor hold on to him just a little bit tighter.

"No talk, sleep."

Victor eases up the hold he has around Yuuri as Yuuri shifts and turns around. When Yuuri faces him, his eyes are still closed. Victor can't fully see Yuuri's facial features there in the dark, but he knows them all by heart. Knows them better than he knows his own flaws and imperfections, as he traces Yuuri's face with a finger. Yuuri's eyebrows, his small nose, thin lips, that little crease he has between his eyes, his lashes, all of them feel different to his fingertip. All of them having stories to tell, meanings to carry, connotation by the hundreds.

"Why were you up?" Victor thinks Yuuri mouths, sleep already tugging at him again for his breathing is slower now, his exhales being warm and wet, released straight into Victor's palm.

"Just… thinking, I guess," Victor replies, barely touching Yuuri's forehead with his lips.

"Of what?" Yuuri's mouth moves again, still not producing much of a sound.

Yuuri opens his eyes then, slowly, and they look so mesmerizingly dark underneath those dark lashes, like a trench to get lost in, to just sink into. When the two of them are like that, so close, so intimate, so in the moment with each other, Victor can't help but to look into them. He finds himself barely breathing when he does this, keeping him on the edge between knowing and wondering, for what if this is nothing but a dream and he's drunk off his head somewhere in Sochi? What if all of this is him projecting what he wants but still cannot have?

Those dark eyes caught him once, this is something Victor knows is true, but the ever after seems like a luxury to him. To do this all night. Every night.

"Of what?" Yuuri repeats, his eyes firmly looking into Victor's now.

"Hm… tough question," Victor says truthfully after a moment's thought. "Maybe… things that might have led me here. I'm not sure."

"Oh," Yuuri replies, with sound this time, as one of his hands rests against Victor's cheek. "Did you find what you were looking for? In there?" Yuuri says, tapping Victor's temple gently.

Victor can't help but huff a little when he hears the question, when he feels Yuuri's finger make contact with his skin. Instead of answering, for his answer could never be short nor could it ever be understandable, he closes his eyes, parts his lips and sips a kiss off of Yuuri's mouth.

"Do—" Yuuri begins between Victor's lapping kisses, "—you—" he continues, "—want to—"

"If I want to talk about it?" Victor asks, the tip of his nose touching Yuuri's. To be honest, he doesn't. Not about his particular journey. At least, not yet.

"You don't have to," Yuuri says, giving Victor's nose a flick with the help of his own.

"I know. We should probably sleep instead," Victor says simply, to which he receives a nod and a peck on the cheek. "Turn around, love."

And so, the stay there in the dark, Yuuri's front to Victor's back like when it all started but this time, Victor feels calm. Gone are the demons of insecurity, the callings of his Mistress, the restlessness for the first time that night. But, there's something itching inside him still, something that he really needs to figure out.

"Yuuri," Victor whispers, not being entirely sure if Yuuri has left him for the night. He kisses the nape of Yuuri's neck, and maybe it's a way to gain strength but nevertheless, it helps him say it. "I just… I just want to ask you something."

"Hm?" Yuuri mumbles in return, his head turned a little to his side. "Sure. What?"

"Do... uh…"

"What?" Yuuri repeats.

"What would have happened if we never met?"

"Are we really doing this now? You said you wanted to sleep?" Yuuri sounds a bit exasperated when he talks like that over his shoulder.

Victor nods, adds a little m-hm for good measure.

"Well," Yuuri sighs whilst rubbing some sleep out of his eyes, "I don't really know and I really don't want to think about it. But, just to be nice; what do you think?"

Victor doesn't think, he _knows_. But instead of disclosing this, he turns Yuuri around before he puts himself on top of him, pulls the duvet over them both and weaves a story of how they would have met in their possible previous lives, in the ones that are to come and... what he wants them to do in their present.

As their hearts are upping the pace, their bodies warm and wet underneath that duvet and their breaths become shallow and hot, they miss the fact that the time just went from 23:59 to 00:00.

And then, Victor's phone lights up.

 **-the end-**


End file.
